Creeping On A Stranger
by an-alternate-world
Summary: Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Author: **an-alternate-world**  
Rating:** T  
**Characters/Pairing: **Blaine Anderson, Sebastian Smythe**  
Word Count: **3,539**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
Warnings/Spoilers: **Implied violence.**  
Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Blaine sinks and swims, floats and flounders, drifts and drops.

Through the haze, he starts to believe that morphine is an incredible drug.

* * *

Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he had spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.

At first, he increased his time studying to ace his exams. His parents cast tired, proud smiles in his direction as they assessed his straight As report card.

When that barely worked, he rebelled against the studious studying type and started experimenting in petty crime like writing offensive graffiti on the playground equipment and setting fire to useless pieces of paper in the park. His parents cast tired, concerned gazes when he trudged home long after it had fallen dark outside.

Increasingly frustrated, he found a group of cool older boys. They were everything he wished he was – confident, collected, capable. They were the ones that first introduced him to alcohol. He was barely thirteen, but it helped to numb some of the pain he felt over his sister's illness and the parental abandonment he endured until he realised even _that_ wasn't gaining his parents' attention.

By fifteen, he'd smoked a few joints, been drunk more times than he could count, and hooked up with a couple of naive young boys who were keen to experiment like he was. He was increasingly convinced he was gay, but he had no one to come out to, no one to discuss his uncertainty with, since his parents were so often absent, his sister was too sick and too young to understand, and any friends he had would probably beat him up. It was mostly causing him to smoke more, drink more, trying to pretend he wasn't caught up in this whirlwind of negativity and distaste which was all squarely directed from him towards himself.

When he stumbled home at some ridiculously early hour one morning after he'd fallen asleep in the park with a bit too much alcohol coursing through his veins, he found his father waiting for him on the steps. He paused, leaning against the doorway so that his father didn't notice how he started shaking.

_Maybe this is it. Maybe Lillian has finally found some peace._

Instead his father explained that his kid sister was in the PICU, had been moved up the transplant list, wasn't doing too well. The words began to blur together until the numbness Sebastian found at the bottom of a bottle managed to infect his stone-cold sober body. She wasn't gone, but, perhaps, she _was_ going. His father cast a displeased look in his direction, requesting he shower and change before visiting Lillian in the hospital.

Sebastian wanted to protest. He didn't want to see his sister on a ventilator _again_, her body connected to machines that worked to keep her tiny body alive. Sometimes the only way he got rid of those images was drinking until he couldn't see anymore.

His father wouldn't have listened anyway, so he silently moved upstairs towards the bathroom, figuring that this time would be another downhill slide for Lillian and he'd be forced to watch it.

How could he have expected everything he knew to change?

* * *

His mother was usually a doctor in the PICU ward of the Westerville hospital for reasons Sebastian consistently failed to understand. She had a sick kid at home and ignored her other one, and yet she enjoyed spending her days surrounded by other sick kids? Perhaps being a masochist ran in the family and he got it from her.

Regardless, the conflict of interest with her daughter being in close proximity had led his mom to be transferred to the adult ICU ward. He could tell from the sour expression on her face as she explained the issue to his father that she was entirely nonplussed about the change but Sebastian thinks it's probably a good thing. Being too close to Lillian would wear his mother out faster than the stress she's already endured trying to keep his sister alive for the past four years.

He enters the room and tries not to stare at how small and pale she looks against the white sheets and blankets which surround her. While Lillian is every bit as frail as an eleven year old should look when they've been slowly dying for years, she hasn't grown much since she got sick so she's still barely the height of an eight year old. He looks at her now, with her jaw taped open for the tube to push down her throat, and he can barely remember Lillian being alive and happy, blissfully free of the disease that had wrapped around her tiny heart and begun to squeeze it tight. If Sebastian had been able to sacrifice his own life for his sister, he would have. (Maybe it would have the added bonus of getting his parents to remember they have another child again.)

After an hour of watching her sleep – which Sebastian thinks is pretty boring and extremely creepy – Richard Smythe mutters something about trying to find some decent coffee and departs the room.

Mostly, Sebastian just thinks his father can't stand watching Lillian anymore.

He waits five minutes before letting himself out. It's not like Lillian will know he was there and isn't now. He glances at the patient whiteboard out of a habit that comes from following his mother around on shifts and can't help but see a room number with an unrecognisable name scrawled in the column. What really draws his attention is '14yo' and 'multiple fractures'.

Sebastian has always has a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself.

He's not sure anyone's ever considered that he's just incredibly curious, probably borderline nosy.

* * *

Sebastian chose this particular room to visit because the person was the closest in age to him. It was really as simple and complicated as that. After all, it was the PICU so he knew he wasn't going to get any stellar conversation from the patients. He glances around himself furtively before he presses open the door, because he's pretty sure there'd be some odd looks to see him going into the room of someone other than his sister. Perhaps he could feign that he was friends? They were pretty close in age after all…

The fourteen year old on the board with the multiple fractures and indecipherable name turns out to be a boy, which Sebastian tries not to think is a great bonus. Observing a girl is much weirder, as he can attest to after spending so much time with Lillian. He closes the door with the quietest of clicks and moves closer into the room.

It's hard to miss how the boy's head is swathed in bandages as well as the left side of his face. He can see a bubble shape over one eye which makes him think there must be some sort of patch under all the layers of gauze and bandages. It's also impossible to miss how his left arm and leg are heavily casted and held in traction pulleys. They make Sebastian wince because he's never thought they could be particularly comfortable, and yet he supposes this boy is too out of it to even understand or feel it.

The boy is like Lillian with a ventilator tube down his throat so Sebastian doubts he's been in the hospital very long otherwise they would have tried to wean him off it. An IV pitter-patters with soft drips and blips while an ECG monitor jumps each time his heart beats. He watches the boy's chest for a moment, at the way it's forced to rise and fall through an artificial pumping. It doesn't rise very much and he wonders if there's broken ribs as well.

He pulls up a chair and watches the boy with morbid fascination. It's far more interesting that Lillian, who he's had memorised for years. Even when he gets too old and develops dementia, he'll be able to recall what Lillian looked like in the hospital – the memories might even haunt him after he dies. Instead, he starts mentally cataloguing what he can see of the boy. He can't tell much about his appearance beneath all the dressings on his face, but he can see a few loose locks of hair which are dark and possibly curly. He can see the edge of full, pinked lips around the tape and tubing. He looks faintly tan but it's hard to be completely sure with the minimal light in the room and the amount of skin which is covered up.

Feeling frustrated with the lack of visual clues, he reaches for the boy's medical chart and starts to peruse the details. If nothing else, four years of going back and forth to hospitals has taught him more than he ever wanted to know about these things and years of asking his mother curious questions about her short-hand notations makes many of these too easy to read.

He reads about how the boy had been brought in a week ago, with the intention of taking him of the ventilator sometime in the next week or two. The numerous IV bags include some powerful painkillers and sedatives because he's got a shattered leg, arm, collarbone and four broken ribs. Apparently his nose was broken and he also has fractured eye socket. There was a punctured lung, and, his eyes widen, bleeding on his brain.

"Jesus..." he whispers, glancing up at the boy. At least the bandages around his skull make sense now.

He returns to the papers, examining that he'd been admitted through the emergency department after an anonymous 911 call had alerted authorities to an unconscious male outside a middle school. It had taken three days before they'd tracked down a next of kin and the boy's injuries had been referred to the police for further investigation. He re-reads the sentence about next of kin, shaking his head that anyone could fail to notice where their child was for three days. Given the extent of these injuries, the boy could have _died_. Perhaps this boy's parents cared as little as Sebastian's?

"Someone really did a number on you, hey?" he murmurs, wondering what the boy's story was. He tried to imagine it but even in some of his wildest scenarios, he couldn't really come up with anything that explained how someone got _this_ badly beaten up. After all, for all Sebastian could tell from the injury list and admission records, he'd probably been left for dead. Sebastian knew from his time with the older boys at the playground that a beat down didn't happen without some serious shit leading up to it.

He replaces the chart and memorises the name. _Blaine_. He likes it. It's unusual, but it rolls off his tongue nicely and it's…it's an attractive name, somehow.

"Rest well, Blaine. Let those bones heal," he breathes, brushing his fingertips against Blaine's uninjured forearm, before creeping back out of the room and returning to Lillian's.

His father doesn't return for nearly another hour. When he does, his eyes are rimmed red and the tip of his nose is puffy.

Sebastian doesn't ask. He's stopped wanting the bad news.

* * *

Sebastian frequently visits the hospital under the guise of talking to Lillian while she lapses in and out of consciousness, but he quickly establishes that she's out of it more often than not. After they remove the ventilator and try to keep her more aware of what's going on, it becomes clear that she struggles to remember where she is and whether or not he's been there before. So he uses that to his advantage to peek in on Blaine.

It's ten days after he first 'meets' Blaine that the ventilator tube is gone and an oxygen mask covers his face. Sebastian takes that as a step in the right direction even though he has to check a couple of times to make sure that Blaine's chest _is_ actually rising and falling on its own.

A week after that, he notices that the IV is holding one bag now instead of the three it had held during his first visit. Blaine's still sleeping, or unconscious, but he smiles to himself and hopes that he's getting better.

Another week passes and the bandages around Blaine's face are gone. It surprises him and he steps forward to look closer. With the entire left side of his face on display, Sebastian can now see just how ridiculously long his lashes are, the slight slope to his nose where it was broken. It's impossible to miss some lingering bruising but it's now recognisable as a _face_.

It's also one which is rather attractive although he reminds himself it's entirely inappropriate to be thinking that way.

He sits by Blaine's bed for little more than half an hour each time he visits, because he doesn't want to get caught by a nurse or have Blaine wake up. He finds himself wondering what colour eyes Blaine would have on more than one occasion. He doubts they're blue given his complexion, but perhaps they're green or brown.

There are plenty of times he's not at the hospital. Occasionally he attends school but rarely for a full day. He gets too many pitying looks from teachers and the handful of friends he has. Within a few hours of being around all of _that_, he wants to tear chunks out of his hair. He _hates_ that people know things about his personal life and puts it down to his parents calling to let the school know why he's absent so much and then gossipy teachers being overheard. It makes him glad he hasn't come out, because he's pretty sure that would have turned into a wildfire.

Some afternoons, he ignores that he should be at the hospital and turns up at the park to see his old dropkick mates. A joint and several mouthfuls of vodka later, he feels like the king of the world as he stands at the top of the slide with his arms outstretched. Some of the boys hoot and holler at him, ranging from telling him not to hurt himself to encouraging him to see if he can fly. He doesn't have a kingdom to rule but there are a few moments of tranquillity in his head when he's too high to really process what's going on around him.

After a week of being bored in the few classes he'd attended, Sebastian has little interest in trying to find a questioning, lonely-hearted guy on Friday night. He sneaks into the PICU, not for Lillian, but instead to see Blaine. As much as he tells himself that it's wrong to keep visiting someone he doesn't know, he still thinks about how it took three days to find a next of kin. He's never seen anyone visiting Blaine and maybe he thinks no one deserves to be that beat up and isolated in a hospital room. He uses that as an excuse to the mysterious draw the boy has over him, something that keeps pulling him in and pulling him back, time after time. He doubts he'll ever truly understand why, but he finds himself visiting anyway.

He sits by Blaine's bedside with a book he was meant to have read for Literature, losing himself in a world of knights carving up dragons which all seems too easy to be real. Admittedly, Sebastian has to remember he's never fought a dragon before, but he doubts it's really so easy to just kill them. Midway through a chapter, there's a rustling of sheets and a pained grunt in front of him.

He book snaps closed as he glances towards Blaine. There's a very obvious look of discomfort crinkling part of Blaine's face. The ECG skips a couple of beats and then the IV beeps a couple of times. Sebastian watches as it drips faster, liquid sliding through the coiled tubes into Blaine's veins. He suspects it's some sort of painkiller and that the machines register when Blaine's hurting, although he thinks they've eased off the morphine which is probably why Blaine is shifting around easier in pain.

He can't do anything to make it go away though and Blaine seems to still for a few minutes so he returns to his book, immersing himself again in a fantasy world he thinks would be better suited for Lillian's interests than his own teenage ones.

"N-No..."

The voice rasps out so unexpectedly that he nearly drops his book. Blaine's right, uncast hand is trembling against the thin mattress of the hospital bed in front of Sebastian, his right leg squirming under the sheets. It doesn't take a genius to realise Blaine's having a nightmare. He can easily recall the many nightmares he's comforted Lillian after she's wobbled into his room with huge, teary eyes and promised to keep her safe. Uncertain of what sort of boundaries he's probably crossing, he stands to move forward and captures Blaine's shaking hand in his own.

The result is almost immediate. The pinched look of distress around Blaine's mouth and eyes fades. The shuddering breaths stop sounding quite so harsh. His leg stills under the sheets. The ECG shows fewer irregularities in his heartbeat. It's a fascinating change and Sebastian isn't sure whether he should let go or keep holding on.

Creepy though it is, holding on wins.

He tugs his chair closer and gently runs his thumb over the back of Blaine's hand, mindful of the tubes and wires that still seem to snake out of every available section of skin.

Time ticks by, his book lies abandoned on the floor, and Sebastian is on the verge of dozing off. He really should have left a while ago but he feels calmer than he has in a while and it's a hard feeling to want to leave. The hand he's been absently stroking shifts against him and it immediately jolts him awake.

"Who're you?"

The slurred words draw his attention upwards to confused gold eyes and it nearly takes his breath away. He'd wondered what colour Blaine's eyes might be, but nothing could ever have compared to seeing those eyes open. He's entranced and deep down, he thinks that's going to be a huge problem.

He also has a problem since he'd never expected to be caught in this situation of watching a stranger.

"I... Uh..." He stumbles over his words and lets Blaine's hand go because holding onto it seems awkward now. "My sister is here too and I..." _Oh hell, he may as well be honest_. "I saw your age on the chart and looked in on you because I'm only a bit older than you."

Blaine's eyebrows scrunch together and Sebastian wonders if it hurts. Judging from the quiet whimper, he guesses that it does. "That's...creepy."

"Sorry." Sebastian offers an embarrassed smile and a shrug of his shoulders because yeah, he thinks it probably is way more creepy to have spent time with a perfect stranger than his own sister. "I'm Sebastian."

"Blaine," the boy in the hospital bed says, before a vaguely amused smile crosses his lips, "but I suspect you already knew that."

Sebastian nods unashamedly and crosses his ankles beneath the chair. "Is it weird to say it's nice to finally talk to you?"

"Definitely," Blaine mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed and Sebastian thinks maybe Blaine only has brief windows of consciousness like Lillian as his body continues to heal. "You can come back though, if you want."

"Yeah?" Something unexpectedly warm flutters in his chest. He'd expected yelling to tell him to get out and not return. Being told he can come back is… It exceeds any expectations he'd ever entertained late at night.

"Your face is nice to wake up to," Blaine whispers, his words slurring together again, as he sags into the mattress and Sebastian knows he's fallen asleep again.

He stifles the laugh that threatens to bubble free with a quiet cough and runs a hand over his apparently nice face. It's only when he draws his hand away that he thinks more carefully about the words. Blaine had been left for dead outside a middle school, and thinks he has a nice face. In Hellhole, Ohio, Sebastian wonders if maybe Blaine's gay and the reason his case was referred to the police was because they suspected a hate crime.

Considering what he knows and hears about gay people that has kept him holding onto the secret of his sexuality, he wouldn't be surprised. It saddens him though, because when he looks at Blaine's peacefully innocent, vulnerable face, he knows the boy would never have harmed anyone.

He brushes his fingertips over Blaine's forearm and knows that he really should get going.

"Sleep well, Killer," he murmurs, smiling at Blaine's content little sigh in his sleep.

He can't help hoping that Blaine won't be as confused as Lillian so often is if the boy wakes up to Sebastian again.

* * *

~_**TBC~**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **5,478**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Christmas, Sebastian decides with a glare at the calendar mocking him from the back of the door, is the worst thing to 'celebrate' when you have a family member slowly dying in hospital.

Actually, to be perfectly honest, he'd completely forgotten about it.

The length of time Lillian has been in the hospital has sharply increased the amount of nights he escapes the house, the amount of liquor he consumes, and the more reluctant he becomes to attend school.

He's not entirely sure his parents are aware of what he's doing, despite his clothing reeking of smoke from the joints that the other guys pass onto him. They rarely seem to be around and when they are, they almost never pay attention to him. They don't ask how his day was or what he learned at school or if he has any plans for the winter breaks. He's lucky if he even gets them to look at him.

Occasionally he feels a flash of hot anger burn down his spine, his fingers curling by his sides as his heart throbs in his chest because he just wants to demand why, _why_ is he not good enough to be noticed by them? _Why_ can't they remember they have a son as well as a daughter? _Why_ can't they see he's struggling to live every day just as Lillian is?

He doesn't ask any of the questions though.

He's too terrified of the potential answers.

* * *

Three days before Christmas Eve, he visits Lillian in the hospital and strokes his fingers absently through her stringy flaxen hair. She's completely out of it but there'd been a moment, when he'd first touched her, that her green eyes had fluttered open and a soft "_Sebby!_" had been sighed from her lips behind the oxygen mask. Entranced by a pair of eyes which were almost a mirror of his own, he'd bent forward to kiss her forehead, glad that she was capable of recognising him.

By the time he'd pulled away to ask her how she was feeling, she was asleep again.

Disappointed, he'd sat in the chair and held her hand loosely. He understands she's been sick for a long time and her odds aren't the greatest. She'd gotten diagnosed with some rare heart defect after collapsing at school. The teacher had thought it was an asthma attack but in reality, it was the first of many times the electrical system around her heart had failed.

At first, specialists his mother had contacted had flown in to try correcting the problem with surgery. He'd sat in a waiting room with his parents, trying to avoid pacing like his mother but trying to avoid sitting like the stone-still statue his father had become as they waited, waited, waited for news. After four operations, the doctors had had to embarrassingly concede that they'd only done more damage and put Lillian on the transplant waiting list.

As if her condition wasn't problematic enough to fix, it turned out she'd inherited the shitty end of the blood-type stick with the ridiculously rare AB+ while he'd been more successful to obtain A+. It enabled an easier amount of blood transfusions but a transplant was incredibly hard to receive. Combined with the amount of people already on the list, many who were higher and had been waiting longer, meant that Lillian's odds of survival only got shorter and shorter.

The system _sucked_.

He stirs from his despondent thoughts to realise that his cheeks are damp. Quickly wiping at his eyes, he rises to kiss her forehead goodbye when it seems pretty clear she isn't going to wake again. Deep down, he wants to see Blaine. Sebastian he knows his parents will swarm all over Lillian during the festive period, attempting to keep her spirits high, while Sebastian's own take a distinct dive and he attempts to stay as far away from the hospital as he feasibly can manage without leaving the state.

He gazes at Lillian a minute longer, at the way her tiny chest rises and falls, and wishes she didn't have to endure this anymore, that none of them did.

"Love you, Lils," he whispers, escaping her room and attempting to infuse steel into his nerves as he walks down the corridor to Blaine's. It doesn't really bother him if the boy is asleep – he's watched both Lillian and Blaine sleep more than enough times now – but he itches for some sort of conversation.

"Seb!"

A conversation with a nurse distinctly doesn't count.

He turns to offer the most innocent look that he can manage, his hand poised on the doorknob and his body seconds away from entering Blaine's room and hiding for a while. A nurse that's a family friend managed to exit the adjacent room and he tries to continuously remind himself not to panic, despite also mentally cursing her entire existence.

"This isn't Lillian's room," Therese says with a frown as she disposes of some gloves and a needle into a bucket by the door.

It's as if she thinks Sebastian's stupid enough to not know which room his sister's in, which he tries not to consider deeply insulting to his intelligence.

"I'm friends with Blaine."

The lie slips out easily, perhaps a sign of how many times he's mentally rehearsed it and whispered it to himself late at night to try finding the most convincing tone if it was ever an issue. Which, he reflects, it now might be.

On the other hand, he wonders if it really _is_ a lie. He's spoken to Blaine and the boy said he could come back the first time. A couple of days ago, he'd slipped into the room and re-explained to a groggy Blaine who he was and a little of Lillian's history for why he was at the hospital. Blaine had mumbled something about it being a sad bedtime story and did it have a happy ending?

Those sort of weird conversations were enough to constitute a friendship, right?

Therese doesn't look like she's buying it. Her arms fold across her chest, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline. "Oh really?"

He wants to yell, '_Does it even matter?_' but he suspects that will get him the distinct opposite of what he wants. Blaine's drugged up comments had been the highlight of his week. He needs a bit of amusement before the Christmas season sends him into a tailspin.

"Okay, so honestly he's friends of a friend of mine who went to Blaine's middle school," Sebastian says, returning to the second part of the lie he'd formulated in his head if anyone ever pushed him to it. "We heard he got beat up pretty bad after a dance and… Well, with Lillian over there and Blaine here, it was like, how could I not look in on him and make sure he was okay?"

He flashes his most charming smile, but avoids batting his eyelashes. That's probably a bit much to do to a woman that's in her fifties. He hopes the story sounds convincing enough. He'd trawled through some online news reports from a month ago – which had been no easy feat when the screen kept playing tricks on him – to learn that there'd been a Sadie Hawkins dance at the middle school Blaine had been found at. Conveniently, the middle school was one of three in the area which was a feeder school for Sebastian's high school. Sebastian guessed from Blaine's age that he was probably in his final year of middle school and something had gone awry at the dance, but the newspaper reports had been pretty vague on _those_ sorts of gossipy details. As long as Therese didn't know he had no friends because of his crappy attendance and therefore no one that could have possibly known Blaine in middle school, his story was rock solid, air tight, and absolutely perfect.

Therese's lips purse together and he thinks that maybe she's an even tougher nut to crack than he'd thought, but then she gives him a small wave that allows him entry. "I'm watching you, Sebastian."

"I'm too gorgeous not to watch," he says as he practically dives through the door, wondering if it's gross to flirt with someone more than three times your age just so that you can distract them from going into a room without explicit parental permission. Therese snorts behind him so he figures his diversion worked and shuts Blaine's door quietly.

A floor lamp is on in the corner, casting some faint illumination around the room. Blaine's arm isn't being held up by a traction pulley anymore. Sebastian might not be a mathematician who can measure angles very well, but he thinks his leg looks lower too. Instead of the mask that had adorned Blaine's face, there's now some tubing with a nasal cannula which suggests he's breathing with greater capability on his own. Sebastian thinks that with those sorts of improvements, Blaine could be on his way to moving to the regular paediatric ward pretty soon.

He pulls up a chair and the sound of the plastic scraping across the linoleum causes Blaine's eyes flutter open. He offers a lopsided smile, his left side still healing too much to make Blaine smile fully.

"Hi," Blaine whispers, stretching out his hand in a sign that makes Sebastian happy to be recognised. Blaine's like the polar opposite of Lillian, capable of remembering who he is, although he's not entirely sure that the story about Lillian's illness is completely remembered.

He skims his fingertips over Blaine's palm before he wraps his fingers around it, allowing his warmest smile to play on his lips. "Hi, yourself. How are you feeling?"

Blaine wrinkles his nose despite how much Sebastian knows it hurts. He's starting to think it's an automatic reaction, which subsequently makes him think Blaine is some sort of cute and bashful little schoolboy. He'd never admit it, but it's totally working for him.

Which is something he totally shouldn't be thinking about someone who's so broken in a hospital bed.

"My left side aches all the time," Blaine confesses, his voice soft because even after all this time, his throat is still roughened from the ventilator. Sebastian, thankfully, has no first-hand experience with them but he's seen how long it takes Lillian to recover her voice, particularly when it's left there for a while or an involuntary application because she's failing to breathe on her own. He guesses that maybe Blaine's healing ribs make it hard too if he can't get a decent breath behind his words.

He nods, his thumb smoothing over Blaine's knuckles in an attempt to convey his understanding and comfort. He's not used to being able to have a conversation with Lillian, to ascertain whether she understands what's happening or not. "Do you know what your injuries were?"

"Yeah," Blaine says, wincing as he rolls his head until his right cheek is resting on the pillow and he's looking more directly at Sebastian. The left side of his face still looks a bit mottled and Sebastian can see a section of scalp which has been shaved, a line of stitches and staples holding together skin which is healing. He tries not to look as horrified as he feels and focuses on Blaine's eyes. He's still left breathless by the colour of those eyes. "I'm not sleeping well."

He offers a sympathetic smile, remembering the way he'd first truly met Blaine as he struggled with something that may or may not have been a memory of the attack he went through. "Nightmares?"

Blaine bites his lip as he gives a little noise of assent, like he's embarrassed to admit it. Sebastian doesn't think Blaine has much to be ashamed about. He's pretty sure he'd never want to close his eyes again if it meant reliving being caught up in a beat down. He observes Blaine's eyes drift away, over the top of his hair to the shuttered windows. "How's your sister?"

It surprises him for a moment, because he hadn't expected Blaine to remember his sister was in here or how bad she was. He had been vague on the details – he's not sure he could ever be truly honest about them to anyone – but even though Blaine had been so drugged that he thought it was a sad bedtime story, he'd remembered the core thing: Sebastian had a sick sister.

"No better, no worse," Sebastian concedes, which is apparently about the best his family can hope for. He can't see her leaving the PICU unless she gets a new heart or…or…

He can't finish the thought. His composure falters as he shakes his head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts and starts looking at Blaine's hand. He notices a couple of coloured leads are missing from a sticky electrical conductor pad, but he's not sure what it had been there for.

"Hey, Seb?"

"Hm?"

"What's the date?"

It's far from the question he'd expected and the surprise makes him look up with a brief wrinkle of his brow. "December 21st."

"Oh." Something shifts in Blaine's eyes, something that flickers to life before abruptly dying out. It leaves his honey-gold eyes looking huge and hurt and so atrociously sad that Sebastian wants to purchase a dopey puppy or a kitten just so that the smile comes back. He thinks Blaine's smile might be warmer than the sun. "Okay."

"Something wrong?"

"No, just…"

Blaine turns his head away as much as he can manage with the healing it's still doing. Sebastian examines him, noticing the steadiness to his chest which is at odds with the erratic jumps of the ECG. Clearly he's trying to force down an upsetting emotion.

"Hey…" He tugs at Blaine's hand, because even if they haven't shared much he still feels a weird connection to this boy. He wants to understand. He wants to reduce the hurt that seems to be permanently reflected in the depths of Blaine's eyes.

When Blaine looks back, the curve of his cheeks is shiny and his eyes glitter with unshed tears. Sebastian can't help but reach for them, softly softly softly dragging the pad of his thumb through the twin pools of salty water as his heart gets crushed in his chest.

"What's wrong?" he tries again, noticing Blaine's lower lip wobbling despite how hard the boy is biting down on it.

"I don't… I didn't want to spend Christmas here," Blaine explains, his voice as unsteady as his lip. "My parents were in yesterday and didn't say anything about the date so I just… I lost track of time and they… I doubt they'll come again now because Coop will fly in and… _God_, I don't want Cooper to see me like this…"

Sebastian frowns and adjusts his hold on Blaine's hand in the hopes it's more secure, more comforting, trying to link together all the things that are distressing Blaine and work out a solution. "So Cooper's…your brother?"

"Yeah… He… _God_…" A soft sob falls from Blaine's mouth followed by a pained whine, his hand leaving Sebastian's to touch his left side carefully. Sebastian wonders if all the broken bones will ever stop hurting. He hopes so. He doesn't like seeing anyone in agony.

"How about I give you my number?" he says, barely realising what he's said until the words are already out there. He glances at the bedside table to confirm there is, in fact, a phone by Blaine's side before he returns his gaze. "My parents will want to see Lils and I'm….not really wanting to be around for that sob-fest, so if you need someone you can call me."

"You… You'd do that?" Blaine's staring at him with enormous, shiny eyes that make him feel vaguely uncomfortable. He's never put himself out there for anyone else, certainly not without a very good reason, but Blaine's different. He's alone and he's sad and Sebastian can't just walk away from that.

"Sure," he shrugs, as if it's something he does all the time. It's not, but he said it before he could stop himself. He'll have to check the connection between his vocal cords and his brain later for a potential fault.

Blaine's hand unsteadily closes around Sebastian's again, his breathing as deep as he can manage while he calms himself down. Sebastian watches because he's not sure he's able to watch anything else. Blaine manages to be magical and mysterious wrapped into one. Every time Sebastian wants to ask a question, he ends up chickening out. He knows Blaine won't break – maybe because he's already broken – but maybe it's like his parents. Maybe he's afraid of the answer.

He writes down his number on a notepad by the phone and underlines it several times, just because he can, and a silence falls over them for several minutes.

"Seb, I…" Blaine's brow crinkles and he yawns, his eyes fluttering a couple of seconds too long. Sebastian suspects he's probably going to end up asleep soon. He's seen that expression on Lillian's face enough times. "I just… I know you explained you were here for Lillian but…why are you here for _me_?"

How come Blaine has the courage to ask the tough questions when Sebastian's too chickenshit to utter a sound?

Jesus Christ.

He lowers his eyes, looking awkwardly at his lap. He'll weave together a story that's partially truths and partially lies and maybe by the time he's done, Blaine will have fallen asleep.

"It's rare that the PICU gets anyone near my own age. They're usually littler kids, like Lillian," he explains, his teeth tugging at his lower lip. "I can't really explain why I thought I'd look in on you. I know it's weird and I'm just glad you didn't scream at me when you woke up. But… I mean, no one deserves to have gotten as hurt as you."

When he chances a look at Blaine, he can tell his eyelids are definitely getting heavier and harder to keep open. "You don't know I didn't deserve it," he says, the words slurring together.

It's the first time Sebastian thinks that maybe he was right about Blaine's sexuality and Blaine has some sick, twisted sense of logic that he deserved to be left for dead because Hellhole, Ohio is an intolerant asshole.

"_No one_ deserves it," he repeats more firmly, watching Blaine's eyelids finally become too heavy to stay open. There's a faint smile on Blaine's face as the tension in his muscles relaxes, so Sebastian assumes, or hopes, his last words were heard, acknowledged, and accepted.

He sits for about ten minutes, watching the youthful vulnerability shine through his peacefully sleeping expression. He's not wrong. No one deserves to be hurt like Blaine was.

But someone as precious as Blaine _especially_ didn't deserve it.

* * *

His parents tell him over dinner that they're going to spend the next couple of days at the hospital with Lillian and is he interested in joining them? Sebastian looks down at his chicken, which is overcooked and tastes like chalk, and politely declines.

His father sighs with disappointment, his mother shakes her head with disappointment, and Sebastian moves away from the table without eating another mouthful.

He wants the attention of his parents, but he thinks they might only ever be disappointed in his decision to protect his sanity.

* * *

Instead of visiting the hospital the next day, Sebastian meets up with Terry. Terry's basically the leader of his favourite dropkicks and he's pleased that his text from the night before has been fulfilled. He exchanges the cash he won't spend on presents for four brandy bottles, a quarter ounce and some papers and filters. He figures this is a Christmas present to himself.

It's not like his parents will give him anything anyway.

He carefully stores his stash in his closet when he gets home instead of under the bed. He's long since felt that under the bed and in the bedside table are the first places any parent would look for contraband, but he's definitely entertained the idea of purchasing a jumbo box of extra-large condoms and an enormous bottle of lube. He'd love to see their reactions as they confronted him.

The worst part is that it quickly becomes incredibly boring to be in his room alone. He has school work he could – should – do and friends he's distanced himself from the past few months that he could call and catch up with, but there's a profound disinterest in doing any of that. He flops onto the bed and closes his eyes, trying to imagine he's anywhere else but this crap town.

* * *

His parents don't speak much at dinner that night. He's not sure why. Maybe they're still disappointed he wouldn't accompany them, but honestly, he visits Lillian every other day and she's rarely conscious for more than a few minutes each time. Visiting her with his parents in tow, who probably look at her with watery eyes and mentally making bargains with some stupid God he doesn't believe in…

_Please_.

He declines their renewed offer to join them the following day and discards his overcooked sausages in the bin as he departs the kitchen and heads upstairs. The loneliness he feels is crushing, because it's the first Christmas since Lillian got diagnosed that she hasn't been home. There's usually festivities filled with false cheer for her benefit, a tackily decorated Christmas tree with neatly wrapped presents beneath it. Last year, he'd gotten a laptop. The year before that, he'd gotten an X-Box. The year before that, he'd gotten a mobile phone. It had been clearly explained to him that, since Lillian was sick, his parents might need to contact him in a hurry.

Annoyed that his Christmas present carried such negative connotations, he hadn't charged it for a week just to spite them.

He doesn't expect anything this year. His parents haven't had the time to go shopping since Lillian was admitted to the PICU and there's nothing Sebastian really wants except: 1) his sister to get better and 2) his parents to remember he exists in this shitty excuse for a family.

Straining his hearing for his parents to potentially come upstairs, he rolls a quick, haphazard joint and conceals it in his wallet. It's freezing outside – the snow had been steadily piling up for the past couple of weeks – but maybe if he gets high enough, he'll no longer realise he's just as cold on the inside.

He calls out that he's going to a friend's place and shuts the door a little too loudly on his way out. He doubts his parents believe him, but he knows they won't ask.

* * *

He brushes snow off the swing and sways in the dark stillness of the night. The cold scrapes icy nails down his cheeks and into his lungs every time he breathes, but he doesn't really notice it. He waits a few minutes in the park, making sure there's no one lurking around, before he frees the joint from his wallet and pulls the lighter out of his pocket.

It's an oddly alluring feeling, the heated smoke combining with the chilled air, rattling around in his chest before he exhales. Getting high is about the only thing that brings a smile to his face these days, that relaxes him enough to stop thinking about Lillian's ill-health so much. He takes a second, third, fourth hit before he figures that's probably more than he should have on his own and stubs the tip in the snow by his feet, returning the joint to his wallet. He rocks back and forward on the swing aimlessly as the tension in his muscles finally loosens enough to the extent he feels like a wet noodle and the worry doesn't sit on his chest so heavily.

His thoughts drift to considering how close it is to Christmas. Statistically, organ donations increase at Christmas because fatal accidents increase. If there's any chance that Santa or God or whoever the fuck grants magical wishes in this word wants to shine some light on Lillian, this is the time of year to be doing it. Unfortunately, statistics don't always give you what you want. It's been four years of waiting for Lillian and he wonders if his parents are right, if this is the last Christmas she has left.

Far away, the wail of a siren cuts through the silence of the night.

He can't help wondering if someone with Lillian's blood type is dying.

His jeans vibrate and chime so unexpectedly that he startles and loses his grip on the chains. He's so high that he loses his balance and topples backwards into the snow bank behind him. His long legs are still hooked over the seat of the swing and he starts giggling for a reason he can't try to explain.

The vibrating stops and he realises he'd forgotten about it. Humming a lullaby he once hummed to Lillian himself, he frees it from his pockets at about the same time as it shudders to musical life in his hands again. The number isn't one he has programmed in.

"Helloooooooo?" He probably sounds like a sick wolf howling at the moon and the thought of that is enough to make him laugh again.

"Uh… Is this Sebastian?"

He clamps his mouth shut as much as he can manage when his body isn't quite cooperating with his mental decisions. Whatever the call is about, it's not one he wants to have from this position.

He attempts to untangle himself from the swing so he can get off the snow that has seeped down the back of his jeans. At the last minute, his ankle gets hooked around the chain and he swears at it – although whether it's the chain or his ankle that is the object of his ire he's not sure – until it wriggles free and he curses again in triumph.

"Um… Look, if I'm calling at a bad time then-"

"My foot is in an argument with the chain of a swing, Blaine. I think it was a Venus flytrap in another life and wanted a human sacrifice," he explains, _finally _stumbling to his feet and towards the play equipment. He kicks off some snow and plants himself on the slide. Much more stable. He should have sat there first.

"What on _Earth_ are you talking about? Are you high?"

He laughs and leans back into the curve of the slide. It feels snug and safe, despite the plastic being ice cold. "As a matter of fact…"

"Oh my _God_," Blaine mutters and Sebastian wonders if he's put his foot in it, if maybe with this conversation he's blowing any chance of blowing Blaine.

Whoa, what? Where the hell did _that_ thought come from?

"I'd apologise but…" He shrugs, waving a floppy hand out in front of him like it's a gesture Blaine can see from his hospital room. "What's up?"

Blaine sighs and Sebastian can imagine the exasperated look in his eyes. Maybe the boy is having second doubts about having called. Sebastian wouldn't blame him.

"I got bored," Blaine complains before switching tack completely. "Why are you high?"

"I got bored," Sebastian parrots, snorting at himself to the point of giggles when he thinks it sounds almost exactly the same as Blaine's intonation. He should be a comedian who does impersonations of other people for-

"_Sebastian_."

He grunts, unwilling to allow Blaine the chance to butcher his buzz but also not wanting to hang up on the boy either. He doesn't think he'd get a second chance at a phone call. "Christmas just stinks, okay? It helps take the edge off."

"And now _you_ probably stink."

He raises his arm to his nose and sniffs experimentally. He can smell the Tide his mother uses to wash clothes and his cologne and maybe if he sniffs hard enough, he can smell the smoke and weed. "You take the good with the bad."

He can practically hear Blaine's eyes rolling in the ensuing pause. "Do you do it regularly?"

A grin spreads over his face as he kicks back and stares at the stars above him. "Why? You interested?"

"No!" squawks Blaine before his voice softens. "No, I just… I've never seen the appeal of getting high but I guess I… It's… I can understand it. Abstractly."

Sebastian snorts and runs a cold hand over his face. He probably needs to start the trek home before he freezes to death or becomes welded to the play equipment. "Your talking is even more disjointed than mine."

"Shut up," Blaine grumbles with a faint hint of amusement in his words.

Before he can get distracted and sit in the park for too much longer, he struggles to his feet and listens to the crunch-squish of snow beneath his boots. "Blaine?"

"Hm?"

"Don't think differently of me for this, okay?"

It's an insecurity that bubbles out of him that he wouldn't dare speak aloud if he was sober. He knows it's not the smartest thing to do with his time, but he's been trying to cope with Lillian's illness in the only way he's managed to find truly _helps_. Now, after he's spent so many years of being overlooked by his parents, Blaine's managed to take centre stage in his world. If Blaine decides to ditch him after this, refuses to call and tells him to get out of the room when he visits…

"Seb, I…" Blaine sighs and Sebastian slows as he reaches the fence running around the park. His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing shallow as anxiety makes him tremble.

"Blaine, please…" He cringes at how he's pleading, how at this point he'd probably get down on his knees and clasp his fingers in front of his chest in order to gain forgiveness for something completely beyond his control. "I'm human and I make mistakes and decisions others don't like but…they're mine to make."

"So I either accept you get high or leave you in the gutter to continue doing it?" Blaine asks, his words so pointed that it needles through the layers of clothing covering Sebastian's chest and pierces his heart.

"I don't know," he admits quietly with a shrug and a shake of his head as he starts walking home. His buzz is definitely fading. He's left feeling like he wants to curl up in a corner of his room with one of the four bottles until he's numb, so numb that maybe he drinks through it to the point of blacking out for some blessed sleep. The silence stretches on for at least a block and Sebastian has to check his phone screen a couple of times to make sure the call hadn't disconnected.

"They're moving me out of the PICU tomorrow," Blaine says finally, suddenly, his voice so quiet Sebastian has to strain to hear him over the phone. "So you'll have to visit me in the kids ward when you come to the hospital next."

A tear trails down his cheek. It's fucking freezing, burning his skin, but he's filled with a stupid amount of relief that makes him sag against the Davies' fence for a moment.

"Yeah," he chokes out, looking at the corner of his street. He forces himself to keep walking and can see the porch light has been left on. "Yeah, I… I will."

"Thanks." Blaine sounds oddly distant but Sebastian doesn't question it. He lacks any form of courage when it comes to asking anything of the other boy. "I should probably let you go before I fall asleep on you."

"Okay." He nips his lower lip between his teeth, pausing by his letterbox. The downstairs lights are off. His parents have gone to bed. "Sleep well."

"You too," Blaine murmurs and _then_ there's the soft click Sebastian thought he might have missed earlier.

He gazes at the dark screen of his phone for a moment before entering the house, locking the door, and creeping up the stairs. The low hum of a television filters under the narrow gap of his parents' room, indicating they're probably still awake. They don't call out a good night. They don't even check that it's him who has come home instead of a murderer preparing to slaughter them in their bed.

He strips out of his cold clothes into warm and dry sweats and a hoodie, huddling under the blankets and trembling slightly as the floaty high ends with an uncomfortable crash. It takes him a while to get to sleep as he worries over what Blaine might be thinking in regards to his habit, but eventually the fatigue catches up with him and he fades to sleep.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **6,351**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.  
**Warnings/Notes**: Underage drug use and drinking exist heavily in this chapter, as well as a fair bit of language (modelled off what I hear some of the boys I teach say...)**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.

* * *

Sebastian wastes the following day by sipping _just_ enough brandy to be numb without drinking _so_ much that he topples off his chair at dinner to give away that he's drunk off his ass. His parents barely even look at him though, which he supposes helps with his attempt at concealing it. His dependency is increasingly getting spurred on by their neglect and he wants to throw it in their face, he wants to stand up and wave his arms up and down and scream, '_Hey! Remember me?!_'

Instead he swallows another mouthful of dry, overcooked steak and leaves the table without saying a word.

In between sips, he'd tried to read more of the stupid book for Literature, which he's woefully behind in. His eyes just couldn't get past reading the same sentence over and over and the words had a habit of drifting over the page, probably because he was intoxicated. He couldn't concentrate on it for shit and it had finally caused him so much frustration that he'd thrown it in and knocked an athletics trophy off his bookshelf. The tacky plastic figure had cracked upon landing and Sebastian had felt traitorous tears fill his eyes as he surveyed that the raised knee and outstretched arm had snapped off, leaving the trophy in three pieces.

A part of him can't help but think of Blaine and his broken body.

Mostly though, it feels as if Sebastian's mourning the loss of his childhood, mourning the loss of the last time he did anything his parents truly acknowledged and said they were proud of, and mourning the last time _he_ was the most important child because he was the first born _and_ the son.

It's not like he hates Lillian, he adores his sister above everything else, but sometimes, he really wishes she hadn't been born.

And then the guilt creeps in with sickeningly strong tentacles because he thinks maybe the reason she's so sick is because he's made that wish so many times.

Irrational?

Him?

_Never_.

* * *

Blaine doesn't call that night and Sebastian can't decide if he's disappointed or not, fretful about the delicate position of their friendship or not.

It's impossible to deny that there's still part of him which is worried he majorly fucked everything up by being high the night before, though he doubts Blaine calling when he's teetering on the edge of being _drunk_ would be any easier to swallow than his mother's overcooked meat dishes. He'd probably receive the same polite smile as Blaine assured him that it was fine as his father offers in his attempt to reassure his mother that the inedible meat is, in fact, delicious.

* * *

Christmas Eve dawns cold, dreary and boring as _fuck_.

The plastic Christmas tree has been up in the corner of the living room for several weeks but his father hadn't brought the decorations down from the attic. It had always been something for the children to do, something Lillian took a childish delight in decorating with Sebastian until it was hopelessly mismatched and teetering to one side from the weight of the decorations.

This year, without Lillian around, their hearts haven't been fond of the idea of celebrating. There's a certain irony in the lack of heart they feel given Lillian's condition, and he can't help looking sourly at the naked tree which looks thoroughly vulnerable and lacking any sort of festive spirit or life.

He can't help but think of Lillian when she had the ventilator down her throat last month.

Given the state of the empty tree, it's impossible to miss that that there aren't any gifts under either. He keeps looking at it while a movie plays in the background, as if he can will it into blooming with colour and decoration.

His mother enters the room to see what he's watching, her eyes falling on the tree. She moves towards it, her fingers running over a plastic branch.

"It's not the same, is it?" she says, sounding puzzled by what she's looking at, as if she can't comprehend _why_ the tree isn't the same.

He can't help wondering if she's lost her mind. The tree lacks the fucking decorations or any sort of present. Instead of promoting Christmas, it's just a green piece of plastic in one of the corners of the room.

Rather than expel his frustration at how stupid she sounds, he clamps his mouth shut and looks back at the TV. He has no idea what it is he's watching. Some crap holiday movie special with happy smiles and loving families that, in hindsight, makes him want to puke and throw the remote through the screen.

"Sebastian?"

It's that patient, almost desperate, tone in her voice which makes him pause the movie he isn't really watching to dramatically turn his attention back to his mother. Pretending to be annoyed because she wants to pay attention to him _now_ is the only play he has available.

Amelia Smythe sits on the edge of the couch, cautiously keeping her distance as if her mere presence might make him explode and set the chair on fire. He thinks it's more likely that having her this close will make _her_ the direct target and he'll spare the fabric, but maybe those thoughts are a bit too dark.

God, he hates Christmas.

"I know the past month has been really hard for you," she says, struggling to meet his eyes as if he's Medusa and will turn her into stone. Her hands fidget in her lap with a piece of red and green ribbon which is far too festive for the oppressively cold atmosphere within the house.

It's her attempt to make eye contact with him though which is about the only thing that stops him from derisively rolling his own. He's wanted his parents to remember he exists for four years and _this_ is the crap that gets spouted?

"I just… I just hope you know that Lillian's really sick right now and we-"

The change in his mood is so abrupt, so swift, that it's like lightning has just struck the room. He throws the remote at the coffee table he's been resting his feet on, although by now he's already on his feet. It skids across the wood and lands on the opposite side with a dull clunk. His mother is watching him with wary, wide eyes. He supposes she knows he got his short fuse from his father.

"I'm well aware of Lillian's health, _thanks_," he says, his voice that same sharp tone he's heard his father use when preparing an opening address to the court.

"Seba-"

"I get it. We can't have a _happy family Christmas_ because we're not _happy_ and we're certainly not a _family_."

The words fall off his tongue with as much bitterness as the brandy had held the day before. He's glad to note that his mother's mouth has finally closed and her head is bowed in defeat. It fills him with a sick sense of pleasure that she can't even argue with him, that it's _true_.

"Would it just be easier if I stayed out of your way and you focused on giving Lillian a wonderful time?" he says, his fingers curling by his sides. It's one of those questions he usually doesn't have the guts to ask and it makes him sound so resentful towards someone he truly does love in his own way.

"That's not-"

He realises once she starts speaking that despite his usual inability to spit out the tough question, he doesn't actually care what her response it. He's still too angry that everything _always_ comes back to Lillian's health.

He waves his hand dismissively and walks away, ignoring whatever she's saying by humming loud enough to block her out. He pulls on his shoes and has his coat, beanie, gloves and scarf to pull on once he's out of the house and just before he starts running down the street with nowhere to go.

Anywhere is better than _home_.

* * *

The worst part about late December is how dark it gets at such a stupidly early hour.

Sebastian loves spending warm summers in the park with Terry and his mates, passing bottles and joints until his limbs won't pass anything anymore. It's nice when the dusk just seems to go on and on, when the sun kisses his skin with warmth and reminds him that he's alive for a few brief hours. It's nice to walk home when there's still enough light to see, when the heat has faded from the day. In summer, everything is _alive_ for hours, even after the sun has gone down. Couples walk their dogs and children ride around on bikes or play soccer in the streets and you can't help but really feel as though you're a community.

Probably some of that warmth he'd felt from the previous summers had been from the alcohol and weed he'd consumed, but that's nowhere near as romantic.

On the other hand, the best part about late December is that other people hate Christmas just as much as he does.

"Seb!" Aiden cries, throwing out a wobbling hand towards him with a pleased but drunken grin plastered on his face. "Dude! So good to see you!"

"Hey, man. How's it going?"

He shakes Aiden's hand before turning to grasp Terry, John and Mitch's in brief, manly grabs. Nothing like that lingering hand-holding stuff he does with Blaine. He doesn't hear how Aiden's going but he doesn't think it matters. The four of them are obviously pretty baked so he thinks they're probably absolutely stellar to cover a whole lot of feeling like total shit.

Mitch flicks his lighter against a cylinder of white, passing the freshly lit joint without him even asking for it. He mutters a "_Thanks, man_" before he inhales, deep into his lungs, urging it to work faster than usual so he can forget everything from back home, and passes it back. John gives him a bottle in a brown paper bag and he chases the recently exhaled smoke with a few mouthfuls of vodka. Brandy's better but he's not too choosy at this point. He just wants to forget.

"So… Christmas, huh?" Mitch murmurs, leaning against the oversized coloured balls that Sebastian thinks is for kids to use as an oversized abacus. "Fuckin' hate this time of year."

"Cheers to that," Aiden mutters, raising his bottle for a toast with Mich.

Sebastian leans his head to the side, using his beanie and scarf to shield his face from the freezing temperature of the play equipment pole. He closes his eyes and lets his mind drift for a few moments, searching for that cloud he found the other day before Blaine called and he fell off the swing to land back on Earth. Literally.

"Hey." Mitch nudges him with a snow-dampened boot and he opens his eyes to the outstretched joint again. He accepts it, breathes in as deep as he can before inhaling just a little again, and releases the breath. He can feel the high creeping in, like a slow moving fog in the spring time. After a third inhale, and knowing he probably shouldn't take anymore after that, he passes it back.

"You're growing up fast, man," John says, pointing at him with a thoughtful look on his face. "I remember you choking like fuck when you first tried to smoke."

"Fuck you," he grunts and the other guys laugh. He remembers it too – mostly because he was so mortified at his utterly epic fail that he'd wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Remember when he had his first mouthful of whiskey and spat it back out again?" Terry teases, nudging Aiden beside him and they both start cackling again.

He sticks up his middle finger but he can't help the weak smile that plays on his lips. It's good to be around the guys, to trash talk each other and forget everything else for a while. He's never said anything to them about why he does what he does and to his knowledge, they've never offered explanations either. They have no idea who Lillian is or that she's sick. They don't know that he's hooked up with a couple of terrified-of-being-outed sophomore guys from school. They definitely don't know anything about Blaine. He probably comes across as another straight-laced drug user keen to forget his teenage years like them, capable of handling the verbal spars despite the difference in age.

"You know what we need to do?" Mitch muses, teetering dangerously when one of the yellow balls threatens to slide away from supporting his head. "Find us some chicks to bone."

"Hey, man. I got a girl," Aiden says, which surprises Sebastian enough to look at him. What sort of girlfriend lets their boyfriend get high and drunk like Aiden so frequently? He's pretty sure no one in their party of five drinks as much as him.

"Jerking your junk to the same hot chick in a variety of porn videos doesn't count, fuckwit."

Ah.

Not a girlfriend then.

"That's the last time I cover your tab, Johnson," Aiden grunts, tipping his head back to swallow another mouthful of lemon vodka.

"You know, I _was_ serious," Mitch continues, looking around the group hopefully. "Terry? Seb?"

Terry nods slowly like he's thinking about it with a deep contemplation and reverence that only Buddha could compete with. Sebastian shrugs, not because it's the thought of sex with a _girl_ but because he's found that fucking someone doesn't make him forget for as long as all of this does. His anxiety over Lillian's health usually returns within minutes, around the time that he's buttoning up his fly.

"Duuuuuuuude. What sort of fifteen-year-old guy are you to _shrug_ at sex?" Aiden says, something in his eyes a little too calculating for Sebastian's liking considering how much alcohol he's put away. It makes him think about Blaine, about why he might have landed in the hospital, and he remembers why he's chosen not to come out to anyone.

"Alcohol and weed are better distractions to my problems," he says, trying not to seem like he's being so careful that it's a constructed lie and he's avoiding the question. "I've never found any chick on her knees capable of helping me forget for very long."

"He's got a point," Terry says with a nod. Sebastian tries not to be grateful that his excuse – which isn't _wholly_ a lie – is apparently accepted by their unspoken leader. "Chicks weep too much about it _hurting_ and _be gentle_ and _do you love me_?. It fucking kills your buzz before you've had the chance to get off but this," he holds up his brown-papered bottle with flourish, "_this_ will linger with you for fucking _hours_."

"A-fucking-men, dude," Sebastian says with a fist bump to Terry's outstretched hand, and he knows his little secret stays hidden a bit longer.

"And for that ability to keep Mitchy's dick in his pants, for which we are all very grateful, I think you deserve another drink," John says, passing the bottle which Sebastian accepts. Mitch is spluttering and protesting at the hoots, hollers and howls of laughter he's receiving.

The hours move by in a haze. It only really registers that time has passed because the bottles are empty, the joints have been puffed down to the filters, and all that's left is the five of them swaying on the playground equipment as Mitch and Aiden sing some terrible 90s song out of tune. Sebastian thinks it was by that group of British girls – one of them was named after a spice like cinnamon or nutmeg – but his brain stopped properly functioning a while ago and it's a pretty irrelevant detail anyway.

"Fuck, I don't wanna go home," John mutters, interrupting the intoxicated revelry by flinging a misshapen snowball at the ground. It breaks apart with a soft _poof_ sound and Sebastian kicks his feet at the snow feeling despondent. He doesn't want to go home either. He's been putting off the thoughts about returning there for hours.

"Survive Christmas night with your dick of an old man and you can come crash on my couch the rest of the holidays," Aiden offers, his hand strongly gripping John's shoulder. Sebastian can't tell if it's to offer support or because Aiden's in need of something supportive to hold.

"Thanks, man," John says, struggling to stand straight and climb off the play equipment. Aiden's hand slides down until it's in his lap and he looks about ready to fall over – apparently Aiden was in need of something to hold onto – while John probably would have toppled headfirst into the snow if Sebastian hadn't been at the bottom and caught his arms, narrowly sparing him from getting a face full of freezing or injuring his skull. There's a drunken laugh from someone and muffled _thanks_ as John adjusts his scarf and grips the play equipment as, Sebastian suspects, the spinning in his head stops.

"Guess I'd better go. He should be passed out by now," John sighs and Sebastian wonders what his story is. He's never really wondered before, he's never made much of an effort to _really_ get to know these guys. Part of it is probably because he's younger or because he's tolerated for his agreeableness to drinking and smoking and offering witty asides. He knows he's not exactly part of the little niche of _friends_, but he thinks he's okay with that. Even if he doesn't know what sort of dick John's father is like.

But anything he might want to ask really falls in to the categories of either 'not wanting to know' or 'no right to know'. It's easier to keep meeting up with them if all he knows is that they all come from fucked up backgrounds but have agreed to leave that baggage by the fence to the park so they can truly lose their minds.

"Take care, dude," Aiden calls after his retreating figure. He, Terry and Mitch echo the sentiment as John disappears into the night.

"This shit always gets fucking boring when we run out of gear."

Mitch and Aiden laugh at Terry but Sebastian silently agrees. Sometimes he's someone who can't sit still because he's got an abundance of energy. It was part of why his parents got him into athletics when he was younger. He enjoys hanging out but once there's nothing more to pass, nothing more to _do_ but sit around and engage in drunken, curse-filled conversation, it gets pretty dull.

He checks his phone about ten minutes after John's gone and it takes a moment to focus on the fact it's a bit after seven. He'll pretend he saw some friends and ate dinner with them – these guys are _technically _his friends, right? – and if his parents challenge his lie because it's _Christmas_ and he should have been at _home_ with _family_… Well. Fuck them. He's still fuming that his mother brought up Lillian, as if he has no right to feel unhappy because _he's_ been forgotten. Instead it's all about how his sister is sick and just… He gets that she's sick but does that mean she's the only thing his parents can ever talk about and use an excuse for their shitty parenting?

Mitch and Aiden start singing again, louder than before. It sounds almost like cats being tortured by their tails getting yanked around. Terry tries to tell them to shut the fuck up before someone calls the cops to make a noise complaint, but Sebastian's too buzzed to really care. Everything kind of feels like it's happening a long way away, that he's drifting through calm currents of molasses and he doesn't have to think or feel or worry anymore. It's one of those rare times that he realises he's delightfully empty of concerns about Lillian's health.

After deliberately ignoring two phone calls from his mother, he knows he'd better get home before she calls the cops to search for him. He bids goodbye to the guys, feeling unhappy about having to leave, and hurries home as quickly as he can when the path beneath his feet seems to twist and turn. He curses the shitty government workers that couldn't put down a godforsaken straight footpath as he turns onto his street and beelines for his house in a bit of a staggering zig-zag.

He can hear the television in the living room and thinks he'll make a quick dash up the stairs before either of his parents can call him and reprimand him. He's probably a bit too unsteady on his feet as it is and the last thing he needs is to give away his antics at the park with the guys.

"Not hungry. Goodnight!" he calls but his mother storms out of the room, grabbing his wrist as he starts on the stairs.

"Not so fast."

She yanks at it and he stills, swaying slightly as he glances over his shoulder with no small amount of distaste reflected in his eyes for her. He might have had hours away from this place but he still feels a lot of resentment. He still can't stand her. The fawning over Lillian has reached proportions too large for him to handle. He loves his sister but enough is _enough_.

She falters under the look, her eyes narrowing as she lets his wrist go. He considers that a success because at least now he can continue up the stairs.

"Where have you been?" she says, her voice following him on his ascent. It's more determined than he might have given her credit for considering her general failure to be anything other than pathetic.

"With _friends_," he snaps, his hand gripping at the bannister in a mixture of frustration and dizziness. "You know, those people you see when your home life sucks?"

He looks at her in time to see her flinch. Good. Let it hurt. Maybe she'd gain some understanding of how much _he_ keeps hurting too.

"There's no need to talk to me like that, Sebastian."

There's an element to her words which could _almost_ pass for pissed-off-parent, and yet he knows her well enough that it's all just a front. She doesn't _really_ care otherwise it would take more than his fizzling temper to remind her that he exists.

Fed up, he shuffles his feet around on the step to look down at her. It's potentially a dangerous decision because the stairs look like they're a long way down and he's a bit concerned about teetering the way John did and pitching face-first down them.

"Oh. I'm sorry," he drawls, not in the least sorry. He never, ever, _ever _will be. "It's just such a surprise you want to talk to me at all."

She flinches again and he knows that she's so ridiculously weak. She can't handle anything and he may as well be invincible. Deep down though, he's glad he's numb, he's glad he can't really feel anything but this brewing anger. If he was sober, he'd probably feel really fucking guilty. Then again, maybe this is just the best way to say exactly what he thinks and feels over this entire shitty situation. As far as he's concerned, the only person to blame for making him feel like crap is his parents for doing a crap job of looking after him.

Amelia Smythe takes an unsteady breath, regarding him with a small shake of her head. "I don't know who you are anymore, Sebastian" she admits quietly before returning to the living room.

The fact that she just _walked away_ makes him see red. If he knew that walking down the stairs was a safe possibility, he'd probably attempt it just to wave his hands in her face. His fingers shake and his skin crawls as anger courses through his blood in splashy red.

"_Yeah_?" he yells after her, itching for a fight he knows she won't give him. _Weak_. "Well, I don't know who _you_ are anymore either, so I guess that makes us even!"

Silence follows his words.

There's no acknowledgement from her that he'd said anything or she'd heard it. It increases his infuriation and he wishes he was sober or younger, when doggedly following her around and hurling insults might have offered some sort of relief from this constant turmoil inside his head. Now that he's older, he knows that being an insolent brat is pointless. She won't fight back. She won't engage with him. She'd rather pretend he's not there. Maybe she doesn't want a son. Maybe she wishes _he_ was sick rather than Lillian, because at least then Lillian could be her little girl and he'd be out of her way.

That particular thought makes his stomach turn and he stalks up the last few steps as steadily as he can, slamming his bedroom door so hard that it makes the walls shake. He can't get it out of his head that she resents him and wishes he'd never been born. He locks the door and paces around his room, ripping off clothes before he wonders if maybe a shower will help, if maybe he can wash away the stench of weed and alcohol and unwanted son. Maybe they've _never_ been proud of him. Maybe they _never_ wanted him. Maybe if he died and gave his heart to Lillian, they'd all fucking rejoice because they got the child they always wanted and the dead weight was…well…_dead_.

He clutches at his hair as he falls to the tiled floor, crying against his knees as it builds and builds and builds inside him, as he spirals and spirals and spirals, because as far as he's concerned and convinced, everything about this entire family dynamic makes so much more _sense_ now.

The water is warm enough to thaw his cold limbs and conceal his tears, but it offers little other benefit to his distressed mind.

* * *

He stirs awake mid-morning on Christmas Day – no Lillian means no small child jumping on him at six in the morning squealing over Santa bringing presents – to his phone skittering across his bedside table. He groans because his head is throbbing and and gropes blindly for the damn thing because opening his eyes is going to hurt like fuck. He's fully prepared to rip the person on the other end a new one as he answers and-

"Hey."

And his mouth closes before he can launch into a tirade about it being Christmas Day and family time and go the fuck _away_.

"Hey, Blaine."

There are a few moments of irregular huffing over the line. He's torn between thinking it's adorable or weird as he waits for the other boy to speak. "I guess I… I mean, I can't really say Happy or Merry Christmas given the circumstances of your sister but… Uh… Make a snowman for me or something today and smile, yeah?"

Right. So Blaine was embarrassed, not rubbing one out. Good to know. Though the image of Blaine jerking himself off is a good one.

He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth to hold back the yawn he can feel building. "Yeah, I'm not really feeling the spirit this year." There are spirits he could feel though – a bottle of vodka or brandy would do the trick nicely – but that's not really what Christmas was about. Even he, in his grouchy, hung-over state, knew that. "What about you?"

"Cooper came yesterday. He was…" Blaine sighs and he can imagine the boy fidgeting while he searches for the words. "He's been cooler about this than my parents, at least. They tend to look at me like I'm some sort of alien."

Sebastian smiles, tucking the phone closer to his ear and rolling over in bed to face the wall. "I know that feeling, and I'm not even the one with bionic limbs."

"They are _not_ bionic limbs!" Blaine says indignantly, making Sebastian snort. He'd peeked at some of the x-rays when Blaine was out of it. That arm, leg and collarbone had a fuckload of metal rods and pins and screws embedded beneath the skin now. He was pretty convinced there was more metal holding Blaine's left side together than bone and thinks it's lucky he had such a dedicated team of surgeons willing to repair the shattered limbs. Others might have said it was impossible to recover from and amputated.

It's thoughts like that which make him cringe.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Killer," he teases, attempting to shift his train of thought towards a more pleasant destination. Blaine grunts.

"So what are your plans for the day anyway? Besides making a snowman in my honour?"

Sebastian hums with amusement at the thought of making anything for Blaine _in his honour_. He wondered if he felt like making a snowman. Like the Christmas tree, building snow lumps which vaguely resembled creatures was something he'd partaken in more for Lillian's benefit than his own enjoyment.

"Dunno," he says finally. "Probably some disgustingly overcooked meal with company which was more deserving of seeing the inside of an oven."

"Wow. Bitter, much?"

There's a small wince considering how inappropriate what he said probably is, how he should never wish that sort of thing least of all his parents, but he still feels hurt and fractured by the conversations of yesterday. It leaves him shrugging and picking at the edge of his blanket. "Let's just say I'd rather not be here today."

Blaine offers a sound of sympathy that's far more genuine than anything Sebastian could have mustered up. He thinks it's because Blaine's so _good_, he's so at ease with offering himself and his pain for others to see while Sebastian is so guarded that he's not sure even _he_ can find his way to the centre of his emotions anymore.

"I know _you_ can't exactly call _me_ but um… I'm here for you and stuff, you know?

Something squeezes around Sebastian's heart and he shuts his eyes, refusing to acknowledge anything about what Blaine says. Blaine is just…._Blaine_. Young, innocent, fourteen-year-old Blaine who is ridiculously optimistic at all times despite being bashed up and left for dead. He's precious and vulnerable and Sebastian remains steadfast in his belief that Blaine never deserved to be hurt that way.

"Thanks." He fidgets a moment more with the blanket before realising his mother was fiddling with her hands yesterday and immediately stops. He doesn't want to be _anything_ like her, to mimic _any_ of her traits. He'll never be that pathetic excuse for a person. "I think I can hear my mom calling me so I probably should go see what the hell she wants."

It's a lie, a blatant lie, because he hasn't heard a door creak or even a footstep beyond his door, but he's afraid of staying on the phone any longer and potentially bringing his emotional guts up for Blaine to bear witness to. The thought that someone's _there_ for him is… No one has said that to him. Ever.

"No worries. I hope your day turns out better than you're expecting." Blaine pauses, but there's something about the pause that indicates to Sebastian that something unsaid lingers on his tongue.

"What is it?" he prompts after waiting several seconds too long.

"Just… Be nice? It's _Christmas_, Seb."

Ah. So Blaine is one of those people that dances around with their arms outstretched to the falling snow, one of those people who walks through malls playing piped Christmas carols a month early and has a bit of extra pep in his step, one of those people who sees the Christmas specials airing on TV and actually _watches_ them.

The fact he can have such an abundance of Christmas spirit from a hospital bed is almost demoralising to Sebastian's complete disinterest.

"I make no promises," he says, because being _nice_ implies he's feeling charitable towards those he's related to. The worst offender is his mother and he thinks it would take much more than Blaine's imploration of being _nice _to get him to give her a chance. Besides, he's definitely in need of some aspirin before he ventures downstairs so maybe that will soften him up, though he's doubtful it will make him feel like being a decent human being for the day.

There's an exchange of farewells before the call ends. He drags himself from the bed to his bathroom, reaching for the bottle of painkillers behind the mirror and swallowing three with a couple of handfuls of water. He takes a few minutes in an attempt to put himself together into something resembling a typical fifteen-year-old boy on Christmas morning who intends to have a shower later in preparation for the proper Christmas meal.

The problem is that it's been so long since he properly attended school, since he had any semblance of a normal life, that he's not exactly sure what _typical_ is anymore.

He shuffles downstairs tentatively, still unsteady on his feet and unsure about his stability in staying on the staircase without toppling over. Once he gets to the bottom, he realises how utterly quiet and still the house stands, as if it's holding its breath in anticipation. He frowns at the unnatural atmosphere within the house, looking first in the living room for either of his parents. The tree is as bare as the day before and still utterly vacant of presents. He's glad he didn't waste his money on pointless gifts, although he's resentful _again_ that his parents haven't bothered to remember that there _is_ another child they could show some love and affection towards.

His next stop is the kitchen, which is cold and barren of his parents too. He pauses to look in the fridge and sees that it lacks the usual Christmas foods. Perhaps he should have suspected it considering how little his parents have been home the past few days and weeks, but it hits him then that Christmas is being ignored, that the only evidence it's the end of the year is a naked Christmas tree and a pile of snow on the streets of Ohio.

Something starts to twist in his stomach, sickeningly tight and disgusting. His thoughts from the night before, that his parents never wanted him in the first place, rear their filthy heads as he explores every room in the house. The noise in his head gets louder and louder with every door he throws open to reveal empty room after empty room until it becomes apparent – until he's forced to admit – that he's home alone.

On Christmas Day.

His whole world shatters around him as he tries to get back to his room. He starts plotting about what he's going to do, about the effects of taking a bottle and a couple of joints to the park and blowing the day losing himself in their effects. Maybe he'll try to find the edge of oblivion, the place where there simply is no more and the hurt, the insecurity, which he feels about his parents' attitude towards him being ceases to be a burden to bear on his shoulders. Maybe then they'll have a use for him again, when his heart can get carved from his chest to be nestled inside Lillian's.

He passes the open door of his parents' room and sees a note propped up on the end of the mattress. His heart beats harder as he steps closer and picks it up to find it's folded around a brochure.

_We decided to spend the day with Lillian, since this might be her last Christmas with us and you no longer seem interested in being a member of this family. Have a look at the brochure but know this – we have already enrolled you to start there on January 4__th__. Your dorm room will be available on January 2__nd__, which is when we will deliver you to its doorstep. You have worn out any opportunity to express a disagreement with your despicable behaviour and we will no longer tolerate such negativity in our house when Lillian is ailing and requires our attention to her care._

_ - William Smythe_

His hands are shaking violently as he tries to put all the words together, the page getting splashed with tears which make the letters warp and spread further around the page. He can't breathe, he can't think, as he struggles to understand what's happening. Every time he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him, he forces an attempt to focus on the words and re-read sentences that pierce every piece of his heart, soul and emotional core.

His world starts to crumble around him as he fractures apart on the inside.

With a furious, hurt scream that it's true, it's _all_ true, everything he'd thought the night before is _true_, he picks up the wedding photo on his parents' dresser, the one where they look so happy and healthy and sickeningly in love, and shatters it against the wall above their bed. The impact quite possibly leaves a dent on the wall but it's nothing to how the letter has ripped him into shreds. He doesn't feel the faintest trace of guilt as he witnesses the glass smash, the wood splinter and the photo flutter towards the ground. He considers shredding it with his fingers, a final _fuck you_ to the people that can't truly be considered _his_ parents anymore. They are _Lillian's_ and Lillian's only.

He's convinced they believe that the Smythes have no son.

His stomach finally catches up with his head and his heart, turning inside out and deciding to give him barely enough time to make a dash to his bathroom to empty it of its meagre contents. He clings to the porcelain bowl, sobbing and shuddering as he falls to pieces on the bathroom floor, and tries to grapple with the knowledge that he's utterly alone.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **6,488**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Some minor underage drug/alcohol references. Some language. The usual tendency to try ripping readers' hearts out with feels.

* * *

Two days after Christmas – spent very carefully avoiding his parents at all costs – he catches the bus across town to the hospital. It deposits him on the front step with a _whooooosh_ and he realises his hands are trembling.

They've been trembling for days.

He knows his way to the children's ward without being asked, but he does have to ask for Blaine's room number. It's almost a welcome change from the PICU because kids aren't generally in dire straits if they're on this ward. They aren't so sick that they could die suddenly, they aren't so injured that their bones are shattered into barely-repaired pieces… The pale yellow and green walls are more comforting than the sterile white of the PICU.

Cynthia, another nurse he recognises from his frequent visits to the hospital because of his sister, spots him from the glass inside the drug cupboard as he walks through the double doors of the ward. Something shifts on her face and he just _knows_ she's going to say Lillian is in the PICU not the paediatric ward.

Seriously, does everyone think he's a total moron that can't keep track of his kid sister?

"I'm after Blaine Anderson," he interrupts when she walks out with her mouth opening to say something. She stills, her hands full of medicine boxes, and apparently awaits an explanation. "We know each other. I know he got moved from the PICU to here, but I don't know which room he ended up in."

She swallows, her blue eyes darting around uncomfortable. He knows he has no need to flirt with her like Therese, so he just wants the answer and then he can go. Blaine being in the regular children's ward means he no longer has to explain his reasons for visiting the boy.

"1320," she says finally. He offers a nod of thanks and turns for the corridor. "I'm sorry about your sister!" she calls after him.

He pauses for a moment, his spine stiffening. He suspects that his mother working in the hospital means everyone knows her child is here – again – and that Lillian is terribly sick – again. Yet he can't help but feel frustrated that no one ever wants to ask him how he is, how he's feeling about Lillian's sickness. They want to remind him about her and apologise for her health, as if that somehow makes it okay.

"Thanks," he mumbles, because it would be rude not to acknowledge Cynthia and he doesn't fancy her calling his mother to say that he's a jerk. Or, worse, having his mother find out he's at the hospital to visit someone other than Lillian.

He turns down the right-hand corridor, watching the room numbers decrease, until he comes to 1320. There are stupid baby animal stickers adorning the door, falsely cheerful and cheesy. He remembers visiting Lillian in the children's ward, the times they thought it was just a short stay for her battered immune system before she took a turn and landed in the PICU.

The memory almost makes him feel like vomiting.

When he finally musters up the courage to push open the door, Blaine's raised the bed into something that almost resembles sitting up. His gaze moves from the television to Sebastian when he enters, a warm smile breaking across his face. It makes tears prickle Sebastian's eyes and they fall to the ground, not quite fast enough to escape how Blaine's face falls into something concerned.

"Seb? What's wrong? Did Lillian-?"

He shakes his head, not even wanting that sentence to be finished. He's spent four years in denial about his sister's health and he's not about to consider how he'd react if she…if she…

He hurriedly trying to get rid of the tears with the back of his sleeve and tosses the brochure with the note at Blaine before he moves to stare out the window. He can't look at Blaine, can't handle seeing his expression, so instead he focuses on what he can see outside. It's not a bad view, if you like white snow stretching on forever and ever, hibernating trees – which look deader than his eyes when he woke up this morning – littering the landscape with twisted brown branches sagging under the weight of white. It's probably pretty in spring or summer.

If he focuses on it, he can hear Blaine's breathing. He can hear the shallow inhalations that have a faint whistling sound. He can hear the beep of his monitor and the beeps of IVs and alerts beyond the room. Everything seems to be as silent and still as it is outside, yet Sebastian knows his world has turned inside out. He's not sure how Blaine feels, they haven't known each other _that_ long, but it still feels like his heart is getting carved out of his chest for reasons he doesn't understand.

"I really want to get up and hug you but I can't and you have no idea how infuriating this is," Blaine says, his voice a harsh, frustrated growl. Something hits Sebastian's back and clatters to the floor by his heel. When he looks behind him, it's a pen. "Come sit here, for God's sake."

He tries to ignore that his hands are shaking as pulls up one of the generic pale yellow chairs on Blaine's right side. Blaine reaches a hand for him automatically and it's as familiar as always when he winds their fingers together. Something squeezes in his chest and it brings tears to his eyes before he wants to acknowledge that they're there. He's gotten good at denial.

"I'm sorry, I just… I don't even…" His attempt at a sentence falters when he realises he doesn't have an explanation. It's been days and he's _still_ trying to process it all. It's been days and he _still_ feels absolutely raw.

"Shhh," Blaine whispers, loosening their hands to run his fingers through Sebastian's hair instead. It feels almost motherly and when he thinks about what his own mother is willing to do to get rid of him, he can't help but feel even more overwhelmingly distraught. "It's okay, Seb. Just breathe."

"It's _not_ okay," he snaps, but it's weak and exhausted and terribly pained as he lays his head against Blaine's mattress by the boy's hip and a sob shudders out of him. Blaine's hand stills against the side of his head before it resumes moving again and he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

He's terrified of being surrounded by posh schoolboy brats. He's scared that there will be reduced opportunities to flirt with girls and maybe he'll end up having sex with a guy just because he'll need to get off. Wouldn't that prove he's gay? How would his parents handle him then?

He's terrified of losing Terry and the other guys, because he doubts he'll be able to get alcohol and weed into a posh boarding school. He's scared of how he's meant to handle his parents' abandonment, Lillian's illness, a new school, new people, without the option of getting trashed when he can no longer cope with his thoughts. Wouldn't that just prove he's a drug addict that craves a fix to keep himself together?

He's terrified of sucking at school because he knows he'll have less excuse for not attending classes when he fucking _lives_ on campus now. He's scared that he's missed so many years, so many classes, that he's not sure any of it is going to make sense. He's tried reading the brochure for days but the words have just swum around and mocked him because he's too hysterical to focus.

He's terrified of not being able to visit Blaine whenever he wants, to steal some of the boy's comfort in moments like this as well as see Blaine gain strength as he improves. He's scared of their fledgling friendship falling to pieces and then he's not sure what he'll have, who he'll have, that he can count on.

Most of all, he's terrified of not being able to be close to Lillian. He can't even think past the terror of her health getting worse and he's nowhere around.

Blaine keeps moving his fingers through Sebastian's hair, steady and rhythmical. Gradually it helps settle the jumping of his thoughts, some of the overwhelming feelings fading into something more manageable. He's still not sure he can properly think straight but maybe he's gay, so he never really _will_ think straight.

Oh wow, that was a piss-poor joke, even for him. His brain mocks his pitiful, conflicted thoughts.

"Maybe it'll be good for you?" Blaine asks gently, tilting up his chin and wiping awkwardly at his cheeks with an unsteady thumb. There's still a cannula attached to the back of his hand which restricts his movements, but Sebastian is oddly grateful for the care the other boy is offering him without being asked.

"How? _How_ is this going to be good for me?" He hasn't been able to come up with one good thing in two fucking days. All he's been feeling is varying levels of panic and despair and trying to numb it with the whiskey in his closet.

"Well, it's probably safer than public school," Blaine shrugs with an uncertain smile. His thumb lingers on Sebastian's cheek a moment too long to be normal and he finds himself looking away to end the contact. "Education is important and all that stuff parents like to spout as reasons for sending you to a hellish location."

Sebastian lowers his head in shame, wiping his face with his sleeve. Blaine's had it so much worse than him and here he is, unable to accept the comfort he's craved for days. "They're just sending me there so they don't have to see me anymore. I always _knew_ they hated having me around."

"Hey, you don't know-"

"But I _do_," he cuts in, his eyes flashing dangerously when his eyes turn back to the other boy. He knows that maybe it sounds irrational to anyone else but he knows, he _knows_.

Blaine falls silent and looks towards his casted arm, but it doesn't give Sebastian that same thrill of success as his mother giving up her side of the argument the other day.

"If it's any consolation, my parents don't like having me around much either," Blaine says with a grimace, clearly uncomfortable saying the words out loud. "I'm pretty sure they've decided that this extended hospital stay is the best thing that's ever happened to me, as far as they're concerned."

"Blaine…" Hearing the self-deprecation isn't nearly as good as feeling it.

"No, I mean, it's been like this for a couple of years now anyway so it's fine." Blaine waves away any attempt Sebastian might make at expressing sympathy, which might just sound more like pity.

So he changes tack. He asks the most burning question on his list before he can chicken out. Hell, he might not have an opportunity to see Blaine again after today, not that he's going to tell the other boy that.

"What changed a couple of years ago?"

Blaine wrinkles his nose, head tilting towards the door to the room with all its childishly gaudy stickers. "You know how you asked me not to think differently of you because you were as high as a kite when I called?"

"Mhmm."

"Will you think differently of me if I tell you?"

With a lead-in like that, Sebastian doesn't think Blaine needs to tell him. He can guess, he'd guessed weeks ago, and he's not sure how to feel about it – or about the injuries Blaine had suffered because others were disgusted by it. "You're gay," he says, rather bluntly.

Blaine stiffens, wide eyes turning back to him. "How did you-"

"You got left for dead in Ohio after a school dance," Sebastian explains, with about as much tact as a Mack truck. It shows on Blaine's face with the light that dims in his eyes and he realises that maybe he was too abrupt, too rude, too callous in his assertion. He tries to soften his tone. "I made some educated guesses."

"At least that proves you haven't burned holes in your brain with all that weed," Blaine mumbles, biting his lip. His eyes betray how insecure he feels, his fingers curling and moving away from Sebastian to rest against his stomach. It's like knowing that detail is meant to be enough to change everything. "I understand if you… You know…want to judge me and leave and stuff."

Sebastian snorts. He has no intention of mentioning his dalliances with other guys right now because he's pretty sure Blaine would think he's making it up just to make him more at ease. He also doesn't want to officially make any sort of coming out speech given he's not sure what he's exactly coming out for. Mitch's suggestion of sleeping with a girl wasn't exactly disgusting to him and it made him wonder if he was a freak.

"I already _knew_, Killer. I still turned up, didn't I?"

"I-" Blaine looks ready to protest because, Sebastian suspects, he's always needing to justify himself and his choices to others. Then it must hit him that Sebastian's accepted it and here because he whispers, "Oh."

"Yeah, so…" He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck when the atmosphere shifts into something awkward. He's not sure that holding hands is appropriate anymore now that everything's out there.

Well.

Everything on _Blaine's_ side, anyway.

He feels vaguely afraid of holding hands now, because he's not sure he wants to encourage Blaine into developing a crush on him or if it'll encourage his own sexuality to lean more towards boys. He's not ignorant enough to believe that the wrong sexuality is contagious but the exposure of Blaine's desire for boys adds a level of complexity to their friendship that he's not sure he wants to have.

"It sucks about the boarding school, Sebastian," Blaine says, interrupting his wayward thoughts. He tries to look unaffected by it when Blaine looks at him but he's pretty sure it fails and he looks as miserable as he feels.

"Apparently there's no point trying to argue with it." He thinks that's one of the worst parts. He can't stand that a decision so monumental – so destructive to any hope of having a relationship with his parents – has been made and he can't try to bargain for something better. As someone that craves control who has been permitted to live increasingly recklessly for four years while his parents become increasingly distant, being placed in a school with curfews and a goddamn _uniform_ is like something out of a horror movie. "Staying sober is going to suck balls."

Blaine's expression softens, his head tilting towards Sebastian to rest more comfortably against the pillow. His hand twitches against his stomach, as if he wants to reach out again, but he doesn't and Sebastian wonders if it's wrong to feel grateful that they're both showing restraint. "Tell me about it?"

Something shutters closed inside him. He can't possibly explain when it started or why he still does it. He shakes his head and looks down, ignoring the way Blaine's face falls again. He supposes he knows Blaine's biggest secret and it's only fair to share as well but… The only thing Sebastian _might_ share is a joint if he's feeling particularly generous. His reasons are his own and no one has ever wanted to know them so he's never tried to think about them.

"Then you really _will_ think differently of me," he says quietly and Blaine makes a noise of protest, but he doesn't try to argue. Sebastian wonders if it's because Blaine _knows_ he might actually think differently of him. The worst part is Sebastian wouldn't even blame him. He's aware that underage drinkers and drug users aren't exactly on a path to success but he's never cared because he's needed the numbness more.

They sit quietly for a while and he allows their attention to wander towards some old black and white movie that Blaine had been watching when he'd arrived. Cynthia walks in at some point to check Blaine's machines and asks him about his pain. She shoots a look at Sebastian that he fails to understand and walks out when she's apparently satisfied with the answers and noting them on the clipboard at the end of Blaine's bed.

"I think you might be notorious around here," Blaine says thoughtfully after the door closes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Notorious? _Me_?" It's his turn to wrinkle his nose in disagreement. He's only ever been at the hospital for his sister and offered her as much love and care as he can manage. There was the time he fell out of a tree and fractured his wrist when he was five, but other than that, he's never been a patient that has tried the patience of everyone trying to take care of him.

"Mmm… Whoever would have thought?" Blaine offers a lopsided smile when he looks away from the TV, a condescending pat of his hand to the top of Sebastian's head making his scowl deepen. "There, there. It's not all bad."

"You're a jerk," he mutters, combing his fingers through his hair to flatten it back down.

Blaine giggles weakly before he clutches at his left side with a wince. "Don't make me laugh, prick."

"Don't give me ideas," he warns, but he can't help but smile playfully. Blaine swats at him and he allows the soft contact to be made with a mock gasp of pain.

He wonders if maybe he'll miss visiting Blaine more than visiting Lillian.

* * *

Blaine has Sebastian's number, but talking on the phone isn't as good as actually seeing each other. He'd packed a couple of boxes with Blaine talking in his ear but he knew he'd been distant, his answers hollow.

The night before New Year, he texts Terry and the guys come together for some sort of farewell thing. He takes along his three bottles of whiskey and bit-under quarter ounce he had left because he highly doubts he'll be able to take those with him. He also doesn't have enough time to consume them himself unless he wants his parents to hit the roof more than they already have.

When he turns up, Terry hands him some of his money back and he thinks that's why he's such a good guy, despite the easy drug supply business he offers.

"Jesus, you'll be all fucking…_posh_ and shit," John slurs, shoving his shoulder because he's too unsteady to manage nudging it.

"Unlike like your pathetic excuse for appropriate language," Mitch says, taking another puff of the joint he'd just rolled.

"Shut the fuck up," John grumbles, leaning his head against the plastic slide and closing his eyes. A few minutes later, a rumbling snore explodes from his mouth and they all nearly pee themselves laughing because they're so high and drunk that everything is way more funny than it's ever been.

He wonders if he'll miss these guys more than visiting Blaine and Lillian.

* * *

Since the confrontation with his mother on the staircase, he hasn't really seen his parents. It's like there's a war of attrition taking place, a mutually, and silently, agreed decision that he'll stay out of their way if they stay out of his. It's obvious he got the note because he broke their stupid fucking photo and maybe that's why they avoid him. Maybe they wonder if he'll break their faces. He's not even sure that he wouldn't pass up the opportunity.

New Year holds absolutely no celebration for him, but he does manage to visit Lillian and press his lips to her forehead for the final time before he's given the short-shift out of the Smythe family home. Despite it all, despite her taking the biggest section of his parents' heart, he's never resented her for it all. He's not sure why. Maybe it's because she's so fragile, so delicate, and it's all just some fucked up thing with her body that is out of everyone's control. He can't hate her for being sick.

He can hate himself for his own destruction but hey, you can't have everything, right?

He leaves his parents with her and says he needs to go and do something. They ignore him, or avoid engaging with him, so he walks out and swaps floors to the children's ward to see Blaine. He's dozing when Sebastian enters and he almost backs out of the room when he realises, unwilling to wake him when he knows how poorly Blaine sleeps, except a single golden eye blearily opens and he freezes in his tracks.

"Seb?"

"Yeah, hey…" He shuffles forward, his fingers twisting together in the pocket of his hoodie. "I, um… They brought me to say goodbye to Lillian but…well, I couldn't just say goodbye to her, you know?"

Blaine shakes his head as he stirs awake, his eyes opening as he searches for the remote that will raise his bed. The motor whirrs and Blaine winces when it jostles his ribs and his leg, but otherwise he doesn't give any indication that he's in pain. Sebastian wonders if he no longer notices it.

"Come here, dumbass," Blaine says, holding out his hand that Sebastian takes without a second thought. Any knowledge that Blaine's gay and Sebastian's unsure about his own sexuality doesn't matter. He holds onto Blaine like he's an anchor, like he's the only thing that will give him life and air.

"Now, you listen to me," Blaine begins, his voice firm as he squeezes Sebastian with all his strength. "I can still call you and when I get out of here, I'll add you to Facebook and Skype and text you all the time. This isn't _goodbye_. It's… It's just that we might not see each other for a while."

"Blaine…" He's _not_ going to cry, but it's not like Blaine makes that decision easy. Fucking hell. He almost regrets coming down here. Lillian hadn't been conscious enough to understand that he was going away for a while. "You've got…_months_ of rehab ahead of you and-"

"And I don't have a lot of friends," Blaine cuts in, his heavily casted arm lifting to bump against Sebastian's hand, the tips of his fingers tickling Sebastian's held hand. "My brother will only put up with so much, y'know."

He smiles, although he's pretty sure it's watery because Blaine makes a soft tutting noise. "And you think I'll put up with more?"

"If I've got your phone number and Facebook and Skype, I'll just keep harassing you until you give in and reply to my neediness," Blaine says, a brilliantly wide smile on his face that makes Sebastian choke on a sad laugh.

"Thank you," he whispers, squeezing Blaine's hand. "I… I don't have a lot of friends either. I've missed too much school to get to know anyone."

"Then you go make some at this new school of yours," Blaine says, his voice firm enough to border on a demand, his thick cast nudging Sebastian's cheek like a boxer before he finally lowers it. "And remember you might need to put up with my whiny ass from time to time, okay?"

Sebastian sniffs and nods, wanting to hug Blaine or kiss him or _something_ that truly shows how grateful he is to have this sort of support in his life after creeping into his room while he was unconscious. Except he's pretty sure that a kiss might cross a boundary he doesn't dare cross, cause confusion – for both of them – he could do without.

"You better get out of here before your parents set off an alarm to lure you out, or we both end up in tears," Blaine huffs, his shoulders deflating as the fire peters out of him.

At least he thinks this is a hard situation for Blaine too. He's not sure how comforting that is but…maybe it's something. Maybe it means their friendship can last during his time of exile.

"Don't stop fighting to heal, Killer," he murmurs, offering one final squeeze to Blaine's hand before he hurries out and does something stupid he'll regret, like try to memorise what Blaine's lips feel like or his mouth tastes like or whether his tongue is tentative or confident when he kisses back.

He has to take a good ten minutes in the stairwell to calm himself down, more from his almost-hysterical tears than anything else. Hurt eats at his heart and he knows he's leaving shattered pieces of his soul with Lillian and Blaine for safekeeping. He paces around the landing behind the door until he can breathe through his nose and figures he can return to Lillian's room and his awaiting parents. He's not sure he has an explanation if they see his flushed face, red eyes and nose, so he just has to force himself to breathe through the waves of pain until they've swirled back into the emotionless box he likes to store his feelings in.

When he returns to Lillian's room, his parents don't even glance at him. He's not sure why he ever thought he needed to conceal his upset.

"Ready to go?" his father asks.

He shrugs, turns, and walks back out again. He can hear his parents following him and makes no indication that he gives a fuck about them.

He knows he won't miss _them_.

* * *

Dalton Academy is a school for snobs.

Sebastian might have a tendency for brutal honesty most of the time, but he's also pretty good with first impressions.

A couple of bags of his things were stowed in the trunk while his parents sat in the front of the car to make the drive. It didn't take long – twenty minutes, tops – but it may as well have been twenty hours. Across town felt like it was across the world and he'd worn a fairly permanent scowl the entire drive, refusing to entertain the thought that he probably looked like a toddler who'd been denied chocolate at the Wal-Mart checkout.

As soon as they drive through the gates of Dalton, he knows the photos hadn't done the pretentiousness of the place justice. It's imposing and ornate and looks so fancy it may as well have been the home for Dante's Devil at the centre of his Hell. He'd previously thought the Hellhole was his family home, but now he suspects that it's just part of the outer circles. He can't see much of the carefully manicured gardens shown in the pictures because they, like the trees outside Blaine's room, are hibernating – dead – for the winter too, but he suspects they're probably as ridiculously extravagant as the front façade when everything blooms to life in spring.

He'd never realised how much he was going to miss his bland, filthy public school until he takes in the ridiculous front of his new school. He's not going to fit in here at all.

He wraps his coat and scarf tighter around him to keep the chill from settling on his skin. His father confidently leads the way and his mother trails half a step behind, their hands interconnected like they need to show solidarity in front of Sebastian. There's a stiffness to William Smythe's walk, once which Sebastian knows is used when his father is putting on the front of being in control, one which he knows comes from his stint in the military as a boy. Oh God, this isn't some military academy, is it? He hadn't tried to read the brochure _that_ closely…

Alienated from his parents' show of support for each other, he starts to look around as they walk through corridors which look the same. If he'd thought the snobby, pretentious exterior was bad, it's _nothing_ compared to the inside. He'll have an absolute field day describing this to Blaine when the boy first calls.

His father exchanges words with a woman sitting behind a desk – since when did a principal have a fucking _secretary_? – and after a brief phone call, they're sent into a room filled with warm wooden furniture that absolute _reeks_ of age, money, class and pretentiousness.

'Pretentiousness' is quickly going to become Sebastian's new favourite word because it fits his disgust for all that he sees.

"You must be Sebastian," the principal says, rising from his seat with an outstretched hand. A plastic triangle on his desk indicates that this is 'Dean Wilson James'. He forces his politest of smiles and accepts the handshake, offering a little more much pressure than good ol' Willie to make it clear he's not going to be some fucking pushover

"Take a seat, take a seat," James says after he's shaken everyone's hands and sat behind his desk again. His expression settles into something far more authoritative, far more the look of a principal.

Sebastian sits off to one side of the desk while his parents continue to clutch hands. _Pathetic_.

"So tell me a little bit about yourself," James implores and Sebastian tries very hard not to twist his face into something that looks like he's smelled something foul. Like hell he's going to say _anything_ to this guy.

When his silence is taken as a surly refusal to say anything, his mother leaps in, taking the opportunity to explain that their family situation is "delicate" because of Lillian's illness. James listens to her but Sebastian is acutely aware that he keeps getting looked at, and it takes a lot for him not to jump over the desk and gouge those stupid eyes from his head. He attempts to tune it all out, his parents exchanging stories of Sebastian's struggling grades in middle school and the even worse grades after his freshman year at high school. His mother suggests he's found the school transition difficult and his father claims he's lost touch with his middle school friends.

It's not true, because he knew Terry and company long before he upgraded schools. He'd also been glad to see the end of some of the jerks he'd been friends with in middle school, but he's not going to bring _that_ detail to his parents' attention.

"We're…concerned about his welfare," his mother says, and it filters into his awareness. He refuses to look at her despite knowing three sets of eyes are on him now.

"Why is that?" Wilson James asks, as if his mother isn't champing at the bit to spill their entire life to a total stranger anyway. Thank God this isn't a therapy session or he would have walked out by now.

"Sebastian's defiant," William says, which causes Sebastian's brow to fall into a scowl. "We've had to privilege Lillian's care at the expense of Sebastian's life. Perhaps this is just his rebellious teenage phase, but perhaps it's not."

"He fails to take care of himself properly," Amelia adds and Sebastian can see her face turned towards him.

He decides he's about ready to walk out anyway because he doesn't have any interest in hearing his life story told _for_ him.

An unsteady sigh fills the room. "He disappears for hours and I don't know where he goes or what he does. I'm pretty sure he was drunk and high before Christmas though," his mother says, her voice almost broken as she admits it.

Sebastian grits his teeth. She's a _doctor_. Shouldn't she know the _signs_ of intoxication? Then again, maybe she's as daft as Therese and Cynthia thinking he doesn't know which floor or room his sister is in.

"He's also not eating properly," William adds, as if it's merely an afterthought rather than something potentially important.

"I see," Wilson James says and Sebastian wants to stand and shout, "_Do you, Willie? Do you?_" but instead he tries to focus on the calm he's found sitting with Blaine, curling his hands into his lap and continuing to look away, examining the books which line James' bookshelf, the plaques and photos and awards that take up the walls around them. He thinks Dean Wilson James is a pretentious snob too. "Is there anything else I should be aware of?"

His parents shrug, shake their heads – he can hear their movements – before his mother seems to remember he's in the room. "What about you, Sebastian?"

Oh. So he _does_ exist, but only when it's convenient to remember he's there.

"I'm fine," he says, his voice utterly clipped and devoid of emotion.

"Very well then." Wilson James rises from his seat with a bundle of papers in his hands. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you all to Sebastian's new room."

Sebastian's parents move first and though Sebastian would rather trail at the back of the group, it appears Wilson James is determined to wait for him. Maybe the principal has seen students attempt to run off unless a constant set of eyes are on them.

James directs his parents down a series of corridors that Sebastian thinks he'll get lost among because they all have the same appearance of austerity and pretentiousness. There are artworks and tapestries, vases and chandeliers, marble floors and plus carpets. He's not sure how he's ever meant to remember the way.

The principal is still holding the papers when they arrive at a room – _483_.

Jesus Christ, how many rooms does this place _have_?

His parents enter first. Sebastian doesn't really care what the room is like. This feels like a rehab and a jail and a school rolled into one.

"Have a look, Sebastian," James encourages.

Sebastian tries not to sneer, because he has no interest in anyone being polite to him for their own conniving reasons.

The first thing he notices is the second bed in the room and-

Oh _fuck_ no.

"I'm not going to-"

"We don't have single rooms available, I'm afraid," James interrupts smoothly, as if he'd known the argument that was coming before it had even finished forming in Sebastian's mind. "Your roommate will be here tomorrow."

Delightful. Is setting the mattress on fire an offence?

The side of the room which is clearly occupied is ridiculously neat and ordered. The blanket on the bed is perfectly folded down, his books at perfect right angles to the desk, his chair perfectly centred beneath the desk. He makes a guess that his roommate has some sort of perfectionistic OCD complex which Sebastian decides he'd going to fuck with as often as he can just so maybe a single room can be arranged because he makes his roommate so irate.

"Sebastian?" His mother separates her hand from his father, reaching out for him with something like an apology on her face. He sidesteps her, leaving her hand to close around the swirl of air left in his wake. He hopes it's as cold to her as her abandonment is to him.

He walks across the room, taking an odd sort of shelter on the side that his roommate occupies. Distance between him and his parents expands to the extent he may as well be in England. "You've seen where I'll sleep. If I can get my bags, you can leave to see see Lillian."

"See what we mean?" William says, gesturing to Sebastian as if Wilson James is incapable of seeing for himself and needs some pointers on how, or where, to look.

Honestly, Sebastian is ashamed to think that he once thought his parents were intelligent because they both had fancy degrees.

"Perhaps you could retrieve his bags, Mister Smythe, Missus Smythe? I wouldn't like to be keeping you given Lillian's state."

Sebastian can't even stop himself from the revulsion that he feels because even Wilson fucking James is privileging Lillian's health over him. Which probably just makes him sound like a selfish, spoiled brat because out of the two Smythe children, he's not the one that's dying.

Sebastian knows his mom won't return but he humours the principal as his parents leave and starts examining some of the things on his roommate's desk. There are textbooks which talk about things Sebastian's never even heard of littering the pages he glances over.

"So now that we're alone…"

Wilson James takes two steps into the room and Sebastian snaps the book shut. The hairs at the back of his neck rise as he turns around. There's something that feels almost predatory about being left in a room with an old guy, something creepy that unsettles his stomach.

"Tell me, are you angry at your sister? Or jealous of her?"

The question throws him so suddenly that his surprised expression replaces the stiffly composed one. He'd definitely felt threatened by James creeping into the room.

"My sister can't control her health any more than my mother can," Sebastian says, his fingers lingering on the desk, the foreign books, before he pulls his arms back towards his body and folds them over his chest.

"Is control important to you?"

_Yes_.

"What is this? A shrink session?" he demands instead.

Dean James looks entirely unperturbed by the stormy emotions he's whipping up inside Sebastian's chest. "I'd just like to understand _your_ side of things a little better after you were so quiet during our intake meeting."

He scowls, hugging his arms to his chest a little tighter. "You're the principal, not a therapist. I fail to see why you need to understand anything."

James smiles like Sebastian just handed him the keys to a kingdom. "Ah, young Sebastian, I think you'll enjoy your roommate immensely."

Sebastian opens his mouth to say something but his father enters, drops the two bags inside the door, and walks out without another word.

As if Sebastian didn't feel abandoned _enough_, his father can't even an attempt a farewell.

Sebastian wants to yell, "And fuck you too!" down the corridor.

"I see," Wilson James says with a glance at the door, where Sebastian suspects his father is long gone. "You know, Sebastian," he moves the bags towards Sebastian's bed and leaves them there, presumably to be unpacked, "Dalton Academy is sometimes viewed as a family for those who feel they don't have one."

"I have one," Sebastian says, but the words aren't convincing anyone and he knows James can see that. He can't remember a time he felt like he truly belonged to his family.

James puts the papers down on his desk and meanders towards the door. "Everything you need to know about the school will be in that bundle. Your uniform and books will be sorted out tomorrow." The principal pauses, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinises Sebastian. "I have an open door policy if you ever want to talk."

Sebastian's halfway to saying that he has absolutely no interest in _talking_, but James has already departed and closed the door behind him.

And then Sebastian's alone.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **6,819**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Some minor language.

* * *

Dalton Academy is every bit as pretentious and snobby as he'd first suspected.

After all, he's good with first impressions.

He sits by himself at dinner the night he arrives as well as breakfast the following morning, glaring at anyone who gets too close. Despite Blaine's encouragement, he has little interest in making friends. He's slow to trust anyone at the best of times but given the cause for him being there, given that his parents have had to abandon him, he's even less trusting of anyone's intentions towards him. He's definitely received some curious expressions from anyone who dares approach him with a hopeful expression and food tray, but they also scatter surprisingly easily to wherever they usually sit.

It's possible he might have he's picked up more of his father's expressions than he'd like to admit.

He sifts through the paperwork that had been left on his desk, trying to make sense of all the muddled words. It's only when he's about halfway through, when he's seen it printed half a dozen times, that he realises the principal's title is Dean and his name is Wilson James.

The guy has three first names.

As if _that's_ not pretentious.

Just before the appointed lunch hour – Sebastian's pretty sure he hasn't attended this many meal times in a row in weeks – the door opens to his room.

"Oh." A tall boy with blonde-brown hair, a ridiculously large nose and mouth, and a sneer that could rival Sebastian's stands framed in the doorway, a suitcase in hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder. "They warned me you'd be here."

Sebastian looks up, glancing over the boy. He seems relatively unremarkable but he already feels uneasy now that his roommate has officially arrived, that he officially has to share his space with someone else for the first time since his sister had gained her own room when she turned four.

He lowers his head back to the pamphlets, relatively disinterested in engaging in pleasantries with someone who looks as unhappy as him. He's both confused and overwhelmed trying to read about the various groups and support available for new students that he doesn't want to concede he might need. There are numerous brochures for the school itself which includes a map that has him thoroughly confused. There's a smaller book which details all the programs throughout the school, but there are too many for him to understand and all the words have begun to blur together. There are single sheets of paper with bell schedules and a class schedule and a food schedule and-

"Are you deaf or what?"

Sebastian _had_ hoped that if he just ignored his roommate, the guy would get the hint and ignore him right back. He's not looking for an argument or a confrontation. He doesn't particularly want to acknowledge the guy's existence, but it seems that he might just get harassed into replying. He remembers his ideas to mess with the OCD complex by moving random items around, deliberately leaving them askew from the rigidly perfect arrangement just to see what reaction he might garner. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't do that if the roommate turned out to not be a total jackass. He can't help but feel vindicated that his impression of his roommate being a weirdo with his obsessively neat desk arrangement was spot on.

"I have a perfectly functioning pair of ears last time I had them checked," he says without looking up. He's spent the past day with his favourite dark grey hoodie on, the hood raised to shield him as much as possible from those at school. There's some twisted belief that if he dresses in the colour of steel, it will make him strong enough to avoid engaging with anyone, it will be his best form of defence against these private school boys he has no interest in being friends with.

"So you're just a jerk then. Good to know."

The boy, whose name Sebastian doesn't even _know_, waltzes into the room, places his duffle bag on his desk and begins to stow his coat and scarf in his small cupboard. Sebastian stares at his back, bewildered about why this boy has such a chip on his shoulder.

"At least I'm not a private school brat," he mutters, discarding the pamphlets and brochures so he can focus on trying to understand the class schedule. It looks more complicated than the one he'd had at public school although he likes seeing some time off on Tuesdays for sport.

"_Excuse_ me?"

His eyes flick up to see the other boy watching him. He can't stop the smirk from twitching at his lips, his sarcasm flickering alive again. "You're excused."

"Now listen here, I got a roommate and I don't care if-"

"You know what? I wish I _was_ deaf," Sebastian interrupts, shoving the papers he's barely been able to read to the floor and getting to his feet. He's determined to leave because as much as he'd like to engage in a verbal sparring to release the tension from his shoulders, he thinks that nose could make a mighty good target for his fist. "At least I wouldn't have to listen to your arrogant bullshit."

"Oh yeah? And who wants to listen to your pathetic attempt at an insult?"

His roommate advances on him because clearly he's a fool who doesn't realise Sebastian's not a small guy and is hardly afraid of getting physical. It's not until he properly raises his head that he realises they're pretty close in height, although the other guy has a bit more width to his shoulders, a bit more swell to his biceps.

"I am _really_ not in the mood," Sebastian says as he shoves his feet into his shoes to move out the door. It's only when he gets his hand on the handle and gets shoved from behind into the wood that his patience snaps and oh, okay, _fine_.

Have it that way then.

Sebastian turns and pushes back. Something tickles his memory, the dim thought that this school was meant to have a no-bullying policy, that violence wasn't tolerated, that-

His back finds the wall beside the door, his hands pinned to his sides with a surprising amount of strength. He tries wriggling free, his chest heaving with anger, and it's not in the least comforting that his roommate's eyes are sparkling with a similar fury. Rather than fighting back, he swaps into analytical mode to re-assess the situation. He's been capable of defending himself before, but this is different. All roads he could have taken led to this outcome. He'd tried to leave and ended up confronted anyway. He's furious as he tries to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this outcome, to push back and get away and-

"For God's sake, Clarington! Stop hazing the newbie!"

A small Asian boy stands with folded arms in the doorway beside them and Clarington – he hopes that's a surname because if it's a first name, he's going to have a fucking field day – drops his hands from Sebastian's wrists with a final scowl.

"Wes Montgomery," the Asian introduces, hand outstretched towards him. He eyes it suspiciously because it seems too congenial, too much of a step towards acknowledging someone on the path to some disgusting _friendship_. "Your idiotic roommate is Hunter Clarington."

_Hunter_ is his first name?

Scratch that.

Sebastian's going to have a fucking field _month_.

* * *

For almost twenty-four hours, he's avoided anything that resembles being _friendly_ towards anyone. First impressions at a new school are _everything_ and as a mid-year freshman transfer, he knows he has his work cut out for him to be as fearsome as possible. Ideally, he'd like to make others avoid him rather than beat him up. He's aware of Blaine's injuries, his suspicions it was because he's gay, and the last thing that Sebastian needs is to find himself in a new environment with no support. He'd always been able to count on Terry and John before to step in, bigger and larger and older than him, but he has none of that now and it leaves him in a dangerous predicament.

As he walks to lunch with Montgomery on one side and Clarington on the other, he has absolutely no opportunity to go back to his previously scowling ways from the corner of the dining hall.

And he _hates_ it.

"So where are you from?" Montgomery asks as he passes trays to each of them, casually friendly while Sebastian debates whether he can break his roommate's nose with a swift belting of the tray.

He gazes at some of the food options as a distraction, figuring he has little choice but to at least _try_ to play nice with these strangers. At least for now. If he's lucky, it might make Blaine happy when the boy calls. He'd just leave out the other details of glaring and getting into a fight with Clarington already. "The other side of Westerville."

"A local boy? That's rare." Clarington reaches for a sandwich and a fruit cup, so easy-going that Sebastian starts wondering if he's more than just OCD. Maybe he's psycho, someone that is hell-bent on lulling Sebastian into a sense of security before suffocating him in his sleep. "I'm from Westcliffe, Colorado."

"Seattle," Montgomery chips in, adding a plate of pasta to his tray.

"Charmed," Sebastian says, acutely uncomfortable of Clarington behind him. He doesn't think he'll ever trust his roommate as far as he can throw him after their altercation in the room within minutes of meeting. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't be capable of throwing him far.

He shuffles along the line, listening to Montgomery and Clarington chatter back and forth on either side of him. It's only when they get to the end that he realises he hasn't picked anything up. He'd gotten distracted by how increasingly antsy he'd become being near these strangers, his distrust making him uncomfortable. Were they expecting him to sit with them now so they could grill him? Was he going to end up surrounded by more boys, other friends of theirs, and expected to play nice with them too?

His anxiety kicks up a notch because he's totally not prepared for any of that.

"Sebastian?"

He shakes his head and discards his empty tray to the stack at the end of the line. He has to get out and get away from them and if that means he forgoes a meal, well… It's not like it's the first time he's skipped out on eating something.

"Not hungry. Catch you later."

"Sebastian!"

Montgomery continues to shout after him even after he's pushed through the door and out of the hall. He walks and walks and walks, his head down and his hood up, his hands in his pockets as his heart beats erratically in his chest. Paintings and tapestries and sculptures blur past him with the speed he's walking, his shoes crossing marble floors and carpet several times. He thinks he might have gone up or down a staircase but he's not sure and it's only when he ends up at a dead-end that he realises he's taken so many turns and corridors and he's completely and utterly lost.

There's at least one benefit to being lost.

No one else is likely to find him in a hurry.

He slumps down against the wall, wishing he had a joint or a few brandy shots to take the edge off his feelings, until they were reduced into something more bearable and less suffocating. He's been here less than a day and already he feels… Well, not _homesick_ because he doesn't think it's possible but he feels… He supposes he feels pretty lost in this new environment. There are a _lot_ of boys at this school, a lot of unfamiliar faces and unfamiliar personalities and unknown dangers. Clarington appears to be the loose cannon to Sebastian's short fuse, which strikes him as an incredibly dangerous combination. It feels like he's landed in a new definition of Hell after meeting Clarington and he won't confess to feeling _scared_ but he really wishes he had Lillian to hold against him or Blaine's hand to hold, just to soothe the heart palpitations he's feeling as he struggles with his feelings.

He sits for nearly an hour, getting his breathing under control, imagining what it would be like to run away, wondering if he can smuggle in alcohol and weed, when his phone starts ringing. He pulls it free of his jeans, staring at the number for a long two seconds before he answers it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Seb."

Something unknots in his chest, some of the panic and tension threatening to spill over. He nearly starts crying, with relief or fear he's not sure. He misses Blaine already and he hates not knowing if or when they'll see each other again. His fingers trembling, he pulls his knees towards his chest and holds the phone a little tighter to his cheek.

"Hey, Killer."

"How's the school?"

"It's…" He swallows around the lump in his throat, wondering what he's meant to say. He lowers his head to rest on his knees, squeezing his eyes shut when they threaten to traitorously water. "I don't fit in here, Blaine."

Blaine hums and if Sebastian thinks about it, he can maybe see Blaine's thoughtful expression. "Your bratty personality isn't meshing well with the personalities of other snobby brats?"

He hates that his lips twitch even though he wants to chew Blaine's head off for such a comment. He wasn't _bratty._ "Jerk."

"At least it made you smile."

"Did not."

"I can hear it in your voice, jackass."

He huffs in annoyance and Blaine laughs over the line. It's quiet and brief, barely a chuckle, but he laughs. It might just make Sebastian's day as he allows the sound to settle in a spot in his chest usually reserved for caring solely about his sister.

"But really, what's going on?"

He sighs and tilts his head back with a _thump_. It rests against of the fancy wood panelling that makes Sebastian suspect a whole forest had to be cut down to line these stupid corridors. He tries to inhale deeply, tries not to feel as though everything is caving in around him again.

"My roommate shoved me up against the wall when he turned up. He's an arrogant idiot and I'm never going to trust him after that." Blaine makes a noise that sounds squeaky. He's not sure what it means but maybe it's because the boy is desperately against the idea of violence. It's not as though Sebastian could ever blame him though, not when he considers Blaine's injuries and the sight of him on a ventilator a couple of months ago. "They're all just so… I mean, I don't miss home, y'know? But I don't like it here either."

"Because you've lost some of your freedom?" Blaine suggests.

Sebastian grimaces. It's too much like James asking if he liked having control. He wonders if he's that transparent or if it's something to expect when you lock a teenage boy up in a boarding school against his will. "I'm definitely missing the access to that stuff that would take the edge off."

"I know it's not comforting of me to say I'm glad you don't have access to 'that stuff' but…" Blaine's voice trails away and Sebastian can't help but stare up at the ceiling, tracing the wood grain that swirls above him.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, knowing that they were bad habits that anyone would be grateful to kick. The problem is that he's now got a hole in his coping abilities and he's not sure where that will leave him when he truly unravels. He bites his lip as he starts picking at the denim of his jeans. His thoughts turn darker, his voice hushing when he speaks. "Do you think they'll call with news about Lillian?"

"Seb, she's your _sister._"

Like it's _that_ easy.

His intestines twist into a figure eight around his stomach and he chokes on his breathing at the thought that something will happen to her, that she'll get sicker, and they'll leave him unaware of it. His parents could be killed in a house fire at this point and he wouldn't care but Lils… He'd never forgive them if they don't keep him in the loop.

"Yeah, but… Mom knew about my…habits and dad just… _God_, Blaine, I can't describe it and if she-"

"Can you stop freaking out for a moment and just _breathe_?"

Blaine's voice is calm and firm in Sebastian's ear as he begins to tangle into a mess of anxieties over Lillian, over what could happen to her, over never finding out that she…she...

His hand trembles as he tugs at his hair, a lone tear streaking down his face as quiet sobs pass his lips. There's too much going on for him to cope with and freaking out is just the easiest thing to do.

"Just keep breathing," Blaine murmurs, over and over, low and steady and soothing. It takes a while for some of the unexpected panic to settle, until he's able to straighten out his legs in front of him. His hands are still shaking but they seem to be doing that all the time. "Better?"

He swallows and wipes at the tears staining his face. "Yeah…"

"Good. I asked my mom to bring my phone in next time she visits. I'll be able to start texting you then."

"You're cutting me off from your voice?" He tries to go for joking, tries to do something that's almost flirtatious, but it comes out sounding more strangled than anything else. He's not sure what he'd do if Blaine chose to stop calling him and he was stuck with words that don't make sense.

"I'm giving _you_ a way to contact _me_ when you need it, Seb."

Oh.

"Oh…"

"Yeah, so just… Hang in there, okay? Keep playing nice and trying to make some friends."

He thinks of Clarington and nearly laughs. He still has no interest in making friends and he's fairly sure that Project Move-Clarington's-Things-Around will go into effect sooner rather than later. "This place feels like a prison."

"So does this hospital," Blaine says, his voice airy but it puts Sebastian's complaint in its place and he wilts. Lillian's sick in the PICU, Blaine's bones are knitting together after he got bashed up. He's being terribly selfish. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm going to have to be," he sighs, getting to his feet and figuring he needs to attempt retracing his steps before night falls and he's left wandering corridors that are unfamiliar as well as shrouded in darkness.

"Try to focus on what you can control rather than what you can't," Blaine says, far wiser than his years. The call disconnects leaving Sebastian biting his lip as he tries to remember if he turned left or right into this particular corridor.

He's not sure he can control much of anything right now.

* * *

Clarington is lounging on his bed with a book in his hands when Sebastian finally navigates his way back to the room. It's taken nearly an hour of wrong turns followed by more wrong turns, his frustration growing exponentially when he realised he was lost again. He'd already decided he'd take a photo on his phone of the map just in case this situation happened trying to get to class the next day.

Fully prepared to cut off his feet, he comes to room 483. He swallows his pride and his anxiety and enters the room, kicking his shoes under the bed and burying his face in his pillow. He almost feels like shattering one of his parents' wedding pictures again since they're to blame for this entire mess, but the photos he desires appear to be in short supply in a school filled with framed portraits of old guys and landscapes of places that aren't Ohio.

"About earlier-"

"Don't fucking care," Sebastian mutters into his pillow, prepared to smack his roommate's head into a wall until he's bloody and dead if it comes to it. Anything is more productive than a conversation with a roommate that might hit him.

"Can you try again without the pillow swallowing your words?"

Sebastian debates ignoring him, but given the utter failure at offering silence earlier, he figures he's expected to respond. He tilts his head out of the pillow and repeats, "Don't fucking care."

"What a charmer." Clarington closes his book and places it fairly precisely against the bedside table before moving towards his desk. He's not sure what to make of the apparent obsession with precisely aligning objects other than his roommate having OCD.

Sebastian rolls his eyes, disinterested in doing or saying anything that this guy would possibly deem 'charming' and buries his face back in the pillow again. He really doesn't care what Clarington might say or do while he lays there with his back open. Sebastian just wants to pretend he can be anywhere else but here for a while.

* * *

Despite Montgomery and Clarington's attempts to wave him over as he leaves the dinner line with a tray of food, he chooses to pointedly ignore them and resumes his singular seat in a corner of the dining hall. He has little interest in the meatloaf, despite the first mouthful proving it's better than anything his mother has made in recent months, but he thinks there might be eyes on his eating habits so he forces himself to raise the fork to his mouth with a mechanical regularity. The last thing he needs is anyone spreading rumours that the new kid is a freak with an eating disorder.

Sebastian carefully keeps his hood raised as he observes Montgomery and Clarington from a distance, sitting with a group of other boys who seem jovial as they make large gestures, laugh too heartily, touch too freely. He's extremely glad he decided to avoid that crowd at lunch and almost wants to storm over and remind them that they are _all_ boys in _Ohio_. Maybe he'd even take them for a field trip to Blaine's hospital room to show them the evidence of what happens when you're too casual with other males, but he's not sure if it would make any difference. On the other hand, he doesn't have to be part of it and that makes it easier to bear.

He leaves his plate with at least half the food eaten – better than what he's achieved at home dinners for the past months – and returns to his room without exchanging words with anyone. A parcel is by the door while a few suit bags hang from the doorknob. He pulls a face at the thought that it's his school books and _uniform_. He's seen the photos in the reading material left on his desk and has already decided he's going to look like a navy-and-red penguin or a clone. Or both.

Picking up the coat hangers, Sebastian kicks the box into the room and towards his bed. The suit bags are unceremoniously dumped on the desk because he's never going to be pleased with forgoing his own choice of clothes to school. Maybe he'll care about the uniform and his lack of care for it in the morning. More than likely he won't.

He flops onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling blankly for several moments. He wishes he was numbed to everything he was feeling. He'd love to feel nothing, love to stand at the top of the slide with his arms outstretched catching snowflakes on his tongue and eyelashes. He'd love to laugh too hard while swapping joints and bottles until nothing hurts anymore.

Instead, he feels too much. He feels raw, his insides scraped out to the point of being hollow. He's been injected with hurt and pain, more overwhelming than he knows what to do with. He wants to reduce them to ash just like the joint he wishes he had.

He spends some time flicking his lighter, but it isn't nearly as satisfying as setting the flame on a joint. The flickering orange is entrancing and somewhat soothing as he extinguishes it and relights it over and over, feeling the heated metal grind under his thumb and probably doing some minor burn damage to his skin. He watches the sparks of the metal before the flame pops out like a magic trick, glowing in the low light of the room. He's not far from his old haunt – he's not several states away, at least – and he wonders if Terry or the other guys would ever come and visit to help a mate out when he's in desperate need of getting wasted.

"Jesus _Christ_."

His roommate slams the door shut and it's probably loud enough that it echoes around the entire school.

"Have you lost your _mind_? Put that away before something catches fire!"

"There is a lot of wood," he says thoughtfully, thumbing the cap back into place and twisting the silver square around in his palm. He wonders if that's a solution to his problems – burning this place to the ground, Dalton Academy up in flames.

He wonders if it would still look pretentious when reduced to nothing.

Hell hath no fury like a rejected teenage boy scorned.

"What the hell is your problem, Smythe?" Clarington approaches him, switching between hostile and concerned. He's not sure how to take the wariness, the caution in the other boy's steps after this morning.

"What isn't?" he mutters, dumping the lighter in his bedside drawer because clearly playtime with it is over and he doesn't fancy Clarington wrestling him for it if he kept flicking the flame into life.

"I've already established you had a pretty big chip on your shoulder," Clarington agrees, sitting on the end of his bed completely uninvited. Sebastian has half a mind to kick his ass to the floor. "But that doesn't tell me what sort of chip you have sitting there."

"You'd do well to keep your abnormally large nose out of other people's business," Sebastian snaps, rolling off his bed only to have Clarington's hand clamp around his wrist. It reminds him of the way his mother had grabbed him, the ensuing conversation on the staircase that might have led to this entire abandonment. He can feel his anger simmering into something more explosive

"What do you want? An apology for this morning? Fine. Have it. _Sorry_."

Laden with that much sincerity, Sebastian almost believes that Clarington means it, that he truly _is_ apologetic.

Or not, considering it's something that's practically snarled at him.

"I'm not going to get into a conversation that will devolve into braiding each other's hair at two in the morning," he says, attempting to shake Clarington's hand off before he plans on breaking fingers.

"Aww, you know how to braid? Did your sister teach you that or-"

Something flares, white hot, in Sebastian's chest. He twists his wrist hard and sudden, unexpected enough that Clarington lets go because he ends up in a heap on the floor. Rage fizzles through him, his foot pressing presses to Clarington's chest to force him down. Any thoughts of playing nice for Blaine's benefit have flown away, but he decides instead that maybe he can follow different advice, that controlling Clarington's words about his sister is something he _can_ control.

If he doesn't teach Clarington that Lillian isn't to be mentioned, he's going to be carted out of here in a week in handcuffs for committing homicide.

"Don't you fucking _dare_ bring my sister into this."

His voice is low and he's sure something crackles around him but maybe that's just his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Clarington goes to get up but he shoves him back with his foot again. The other boy stills and his expression changes into something that Sebastian doesn't understand.

"Do you understand that or is your skull empty? My sister is off-fucking-limits."

"Jesus, I get it!" Clarington hisses, finally managing to roll out from underneath Sebastian's foot and stand. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

Sebastian stares him down, gritting his teeth hard enough that he worries they might just crack. "Don't do it again," he spits out, walking to the bathroom where he slams the door shut and turns on the water with the intention of showering.

Mostly, he intends to hide the tears as his anxiety over Lillian returns.

* * *

He doesn't look in Clarington's direction as he exits the bathroom, folding himself under the blankets and determinedly facing the side of the room that doesn't feature Clarington reading on his bed. He knows if he was examined too closely, his roommate would see his red eyes. He doesn't have smoking through a joint to blame this time.

"Night, Smythe," Clarington mutters, a gesture which Sebastian supposes is meant to be somewhere between apology and conciliatory.

Sebastian hauls the blankets up higher and ignores him.

* * *

An alarm goes off which is so earth-shatteringly loud he's fairly sure Blaine might have heard it in his hospital room. He doesn't fall out of bed, but it damn near comes close. At the very least, he thinks he's had a mild heart attack.

The noise is quickly dialled down, but his ears are ringing.

"Sorry," Clarington says, and Sebastian's getting rather fed up with the amount of apologies he's hearing for things which shouldn't have happened in the first place. "Must have gotten bumped louder during transport."

Sebastian pulls the blanket over his head and wishes he could pretend he didn't have bullshit classes to go to with a whole bunch of people able to look closer at him like he's the new lab experiment. He'd enjoyed the relative anonymity he'd enjoyed at Westerville High because he was 'just another freshman'.

But now…

Clarington apparently calls first dibs on the shower, if the click of the bathroom is anything to go by. He mutters a series of curses under his breath and shuts his eyes again.

* * *

Classes suck.

(The only thing that sucks more is the stupid uniform.)

He missed at least a couple of months after Lillian went into the PICU but his attendance hadn't been exactly stellar before that. Middle school had been a bit of a drag as well. After he'd given up his attempts at stunning his parents with quality report cards, he'd lost a lot of interest in school work. He could read when the words wanted to behave, he could write when he was forced into it, he could count one plus one, he could tell you the first twenty presidents of the United States and recite all fifty states and capital cities because he'd memorised his third grade teacher telling him.

What more could anyone want?

Despite the fact he'd sat in French for an hour, he's fairly sure that a class in a foreign language somehow made more sense to him than English Lit and Geometry. American History may as well have been a joke and British History? Well. The extent of Sebastian's British history was wrapped up in the Civil War and revolution, and not at all related to Queen Elizabeth I. In Geography, they were learning about weather systems and in Biology, they were analysing the function of bodily organs and in Chemistry…

Chemistry was about the point that Sebastian's brain exploded instead of the chemicals in the beaker and he walked out of the class.

He ends up sitting on the floor of his room with his back to the bed as a shield from being seen by anyone who enters. The flame dances in front of his eyes in an attempt to distract his mind, although his hands are shaking. He does everything in his power to try willing Blaine to call him so he has someone to talk to.

Someone knocks at the door. "Sebastian?"

He nearly groans because the last thing he feels like doing is dealing with someone who is either nosy or looking to be a model student and become a prefect when he's old enough.

Besides, what the hell is Montgomery doing here? They weren't in Chemistry together.

He doesn't respond in the hopes that the boy will go away, but then he hears the scrape of a key in the lock and quickly snaps the lighter shut and stows it under the bed. The door opens and it doesn't take Wes much time to walk into the room and see him.

"That's the oldest hiding place in the unwritten Dalton handbook," the boy comments with a wry smile, wandering to the other side of the room to sit on the floor with his back against Clarington's bed.

They're facing each other, although Sebastian keeps his eyes trained on the swirly carpet. He's not in the mood for prying questions that encourage him into talking. He's not in the mood for company. His attitude is sour and his anger at the world is barely contained.

"So I'm from Seattle," Montgomery volunteers unexpectedly, his voice light and conversational. "I've got two older sisters, one in her first year at Yale and another in her fourth year at Harvard. My younger brother is still in Washington with our parents and we Skype all the time because he's the only one left there and, well, Asian parents are pretty strict so he misses us."

Sebastian slowly raises his gaze to Montgomery, who's examining the cuffs of his blazer like they're the most interesting things he's ever seen. He supposes it's the boy's way of diffusing the tension and filling in the silence and he can't decide if it annoys him or not.

"I'm a sophomore. Clarington's a freshman, but he joined up to the Warblers so we became friends through that. Do you sing?"

Montgomery makes eye contact with him for a brief second before Sebastian looks away again and shakes his head. He wouldn't be caught dead singing in public, especially with a group of other boys. He consistently refused to even join the drunken yowling that the guys would do at the playground, so he's pretty sure singing with other boys is something that would get '_gay_' stamped across his forehead long before he's ready.

"Pity. We could use some taller guys to balance out those who haven't had a growth spurt yet. Or in my case, might never get one."

It's a comment he'd heard Blaine make once, that he was small for his age and it was why he'd made such an easy target. Sebastian's not the tallest guy around. Mitch had several inches on him, but he supposes that for fifteen and a freshman, he isn't the shortest guy in his year at Dalton. He's seen others that are taller, boys who might be juniors or seniors with extra stitching on their blazers which probably list all the sporting teams they're a part of like anyone actually cares about their status.

He remembers the trophy he broke and his fingers fold into his lap.

"Are you not much of a talker or am I just annoying you?" Montgomery says, the lightness in his voice giving way to something less sure.

Sebastian has to think about the answer. He's not particularly annoyed by Montgomery's ramblings, although he does wonder why it's happening. And he_ can_ talk, if it's around Blaine or he's intoxicated enough to lose his mental faculties.

"Not much of a talker," he concedes. He can see Montgomery nodding out of the corner of his eye like his response made all the sense in the world.

"Are you struggling with the change? I know you're a local but public to private can be a big step for some people to handle."

Montgomery asks questions in a way that's similar to Blaine – they aren't laden with pressure or demands. There's a gentleness to them that makes them feel natural, coming from someone who is genuinely curious rather than pumping him for information which is going to be spread through the school gossip mill.

He looks down at his hands and closes his eyes. The public/private step is the least of his worries.

"I didn't understand anything that was talked about in class today," he admits, feeling stupid despite knowing he's really not. He _used_ to be a star student, after all. "It was all just…" He waves his hand, as if that vague gesture will make sense to someone he met yesterday.

"Dalton is very academically rigorous."

That's one way of putting it, Sebastian supposes. Another way would be that it's a load of bullshit that no one understood unless they were a perfect student.

"I'm not an idiot. It was all gibberish that kept moving around and I got sick of all the thoroughly foreign information."

"Okay…" Montgomery stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles neatly. "I don't know what the curriculum was like at your old school, but did you have a good grasp on that?"

Sebastian laughs, but the sound is pretty hollow and he thinks that's the only answer Montgomery needs. He couldn't have explained what he was meant to have learned in the first half of his freshman year, and he wasn't entirely sure he knew the past three years at middle school either. "Let's just say there were issues with having a perfect attendance record."

"Gotcha."

And just like that, he doesn't need to say anything more. Montgomery doesn't demand anything from him and Sebastian….finds he feels more comfortable with that. Even Blaine sometimes pushes a little too far for his liking. He's not good with putting his feelings into words and he doesn't like explaining himself too much in case it makes someone dislike him.

"So here's an idea that you can totally shoot down in flames if you want," Montgomery begins, his dark eyes fixing on Sebastian's face. "Hunter's difficult, I'll grant you that, but he's a good student and he's loyal once you crack under his shell. He'd help you out with catching up on the previous semester's work."

Sebastian's fairly sure he'd rather drink paint thinner than ask Clarington for help, but he smiles politely at the suggestion anyway.

"There's also a study group that meets on Monday, Wednesday and Thursdays. You don't have to come every day but it's a range of guys from all different grades with different strengths and weaknesses. We have a good system of helping each other out with whatever the problem is, building on everyone's knowledge until we know more than the textbook or our class notes. It's also a huge bonus when finals come around because someone always seems to know more than you."

Sebastian wouldn't be caught dead asking for help with schoolwork from strangers, but he humours Wes again by nodding and hoping his face looks like he's thoughtfully considering it.

"Alternatively you can fail to hand anything in, skip all your classes, and get held back a year. Hell, you could be permanently held back until you're old enough to kick out. I'm sure that'd make your parents pleased."

It's around that time when Sebastian realises there are two sides to Montgomery. There's the side that's an older student in the room, someone with wisdom about the system who might be a mentor someday because he strives to be helpful and compassionate. Sebastian can only imagine how many times Montgomery has tried to bridge the gap between struggling newbies and integrated students within the larger school network.

Then there's the other side, the one which clearly has a lot of intelligence, years of excellent education, and enough cunning to inflict sharp words like daggers into his skin. That side of Montgomery isn't just brutally honest, but instead nudges the borders of cruel and unlikable.

Sebastian knows that being held back a year would be very, very bad for any reputation he'd want to build, but given how much school he missed last semester and how little he failed to understand today, it might just be inevitable when May rolls around and the final grades roll in. He can't see how he's ever meant to pass classes with content as foreign to him as how to save Lillian.

"Dalton doesn't often let people sink into a pit of wallowing nothingness, Sebastian," Montgomery says quietly as he rises to his feet. "There are always doorways open to welcoming you if you're willing to walk through them."

Sebastian listens to the footsteps fade away after the door shuts. Despite still being on the floor, he lies down on the carpet and lets his pride and determination wage a war with his fear of failure.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **4,444**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian tried to stay as positive as possible throughout the week, attempting to turn up to all his classes and complete the work that was assigned.

The key words, of course, are _tried_ and _attempted_.

As the week progressed, he failed to exchange words or even looks with Clarington or Montgomery. Sharing space with someone you had no interest in talking to because they were a rage-fuelled jackass didn't make him particularly willing to open his mouth and tickle the dragon into awakening. Montgomery had kept his distance, although Sebastian wasn't sure if that's because he was expected to break down and beg for Montgomery's help or the other boy had moved on to other, better, people. It wasn't as though Sebastian was interested in confiding in him.

As the week progressed, the food in his mouth tasted increasingly ashy and the mouthfuls became harder to swallow again. He noticed when he was holding his fork that it was shaking, and then realised his hands were trembling. It had also led to some terrible note-taking in class when his pen wasn't controlled in his fingers. He supposed he could get away with it if only because it was a school for boys and boys generally didn't have good handwriting, but he knew he'd once been capable of better and wondered if it had anything to do with how out of practice he was. He refused to consider that it had anything to do with drinking or smoking the past few years.

As the week progressed, he found he was increasingly out of his depth with the content across all his subjects. Subjects he'd been good at in the public system now became subjects he hated the most because nothing was familiar. Subjects he hadn't been so great at before coming to Dalton were now even more abysmal. He was tired, frustrated, and had entertained thoughts of running away from the school on more than one occasion.

As the week progressed, he seemed to have developed a habit of getting bathroom passes and then disappearing for an hour rather than a few minutes. He knew such antics weren't going to be tolerated long, but while he had the opportunity, he figured he ought to take it.

The only good thing he could say about his behaviour recently was that at least he wasn't annoying in class. There were a couple of boys who seemed to struggle to stay still, who were constantly fiddling with their blazer or their tie or tapping their pen against the desk. He bit his tongue from snapping at them to be quiet but knew, as he faced the front and watched unfamiliar words and terms get put on the whiteboard, that his silence was only because he had no idea about anything so any contribution would just make him look like a fool. He could do without being laughed at.

Blaine called twice but Sebastian felt distant as he offered many monosyllabic answers. He wondered if Blaine had his own mobile yet and could text, but then though he probably would be doing that already. It made him wonder if his mother hadn't visited yet in which case… His mother only visited him once a week? It made him sad and he wished he could get out of school to visit Blaine and offer the boy some company again.

On Friday, rather than try to ask for a pass out of French, a note comes for him from Dean William James.

_Well_ then.

He packs up his book and pen and heads out the door, taking a few wrong turns – seriously, this place needs signs and arrows and floor plan maps at every intersection – before he arrives. The receptionist waves him through so he enters the office.

"Ah, Sebastian!" James shifts his attention away from typing on a small laptop and removes his glasses from the tip of his nose. "Come in. Have a seat."

Sebastian feels wary as he adjusts the strap on his bag, losing some of his swagger under the clear eyes of the principal. He'd figures his behaviour wasn't going to be be tolerated long, but he had hoped it would be more than a week…

"How are you settling in?" James asks, hands clasped across his stomach. His thinning grey hair and shiny face is the picture of friendliness, but Sebastian doesn't trust him. Probably because of his position in the school.

"Fine, Sir," he mutters, his gaze drifting to the plastic triangle on the front of James' desk and wondering if his first name is Dean rather than his job title.

"'Fine'? So you've made friends? Understood your class content?"

He scowls and keeps his eyes lowered, avoiding any form of response because this is just like with his parents – only he can't speak sharply here. He's not sure what would happen if he got expelled in his first week, but he doesn't think the result would be pretty. He'd probably not be allowed to live at home anymore. Being turfed onto the streets in the second week of January isn't high on his priority list.

"Sebastian, I'd like to make a suggestion to you and you're welcome to tell me I'm an old busybody if you like," the principal says, too easily for Sebastian to believe there wouldn't be consequences if he _did_ just do that. "I'd like you to find a teacher on staff that could mentor you. They can be anyone at all, young or old, male or female, but I'd like _you_ to be responsible for figuring that out. I'd like you to have someone in the school that you feel you can trust, that can-"

"I'm _never_ going to trust someone on the school faculty," Sebastian interrupts before he can stop himself. His glare has deepened at the thought of talking to someone who has power over him, at a teacher who might fail him in a subject just because he sucks at it.

James' mouth twitches, his eyes scanning Sebastian's face. "Is it because you think someone with authority will express their disappointment in you? Or because they might report back to me?"

Sebastian pauses to consider it, stubbornly glowering at James' desk. He wondered if it would catch fire if he tried to wave his lighter over it. It might feel like a victory if he burned the school down starting with the principal's office. "I don't know. Both. Neither."

James hums and leans forward in his chair, his hands and elbows resting on the table. "I could come down hard on you, Sebastian. I could say that your truancy of classes would lead to a suspension, although that's pointless given we're a boarding school. I could put you on a monitoring sheet so teachers know behaviours you exhibit and complete a form that tells you and me whether you're learning to curb them."

Sebastian increasingly thinks he hates this guy. He seems all nice and friendly but underneath…. Underneath he's just as slimy as any other teacher and it reminds Sebastian why he never planned on trusting any teacher or student in this godforsaken place.

"I could also say that unless your behaviour improves, then any weekend privileges you may earn would be reduced. The loss of such privileges may be an effective way to obtain improved behaviour as it would minimise your opportunity to leave and see your sister."

Sebastian raises his head, his gaze narrowing at the smug bastard in front of him. He hadn't even known there was such a thing as 'weekend privileges' and can only imagine getting out for a few hours to visit Lillian or Blaine or Terry. "If you're going to use my sister as a bargaining chip-"

"You're more likely to act out because you're angry at me for using her?" James suggests, his eyes sparkling and his mouth in a wide, friendly smile that makes Sebastian's skin crawl. He doesn't respond because he's not sure how he was going to end his sentence. He can't get physical with the principal the same way he had with Clarington. "This isn't my first day at the rodeo, Sebastian. You aren't my first student to come in and be unhappy, or to have a lot going on beyond the gates that makes your interest in school limited."

Honestly, Sebastian doesn't even _care_ if there have been other people with shit lives. He's a teenage boy who has just wanted the attention of his parents for years. Now he's been sent across town to get out of their house. He has no access to his sister or his friends and he doesn't understand the work in class. If anyone had a shittier life than him, it's not going to magically make him feel better for being a selfish prick.

"What about if a mentor was an upperclassman? Would you trust another student more than a teacher?" James says, returning to the original topic of conversation.

Sebastian wonders why the idea of a mentor is so important. He knows vaguely what they are but he's never had one in the past, never needed someone older and wiser to take him under their wing until he's strong enough to fly on his own. It seems ridiculous and unnecessary to have someone that he's meant to talk to when he's never talked to anyone in his life.

He inclines his head to James' suggestion just to appease him, because he might, _slightly_, trust a student more than a teacher. He thinks of how he talked a little to Montgomery and he talks to Blaine sometimes, even though Blaine is younger.

"Then perhaps that's something to investigate," James murmurs, writing something down in front of him. Sebastian wants to stand up and demand to know what it is that he's said or done which is so fascinating. He feels more and more like this is a session with a shrink. He can see James' head raise from the corner of his eyes, the relatively neutral expression on his face. "Here's what I'm going to say to you, Sebastian. Are you listening?"

"Yeah…"

"You're a capable, smart kid who has gotten a little lost in recent years. Who could blame you? I wouldn't put a high value on education either if I was in your position."

Sebastian slowly raises his head, a frown pulling his eyebrows together. He's aware of the ticking clock somewhere in the room as the silence stretches into a gulf between them. Is this a joke? What the fuck is James playing at making statements about him when the principal doesn't even know him?

"I think you have a tendency to want to hide that you're not doing so well and I respect that, because men admitting weakness is pretty unusual."

Sebastian grimaces and looks to the side. This sounds like a shrink giving an assessment on his behaviour and personality rather than a principal. He's suspicious that everything being said is a load of crap, used to try and get him to improve his shitty disposition.

"Yet I also think that you can do a great many things here which will exceed the wildest hopes and dreams you might have for yourself right now, Sebastian. There's nothing wrong with being afraid and defensive, but you don't have to walk a lonely path."

Sebastian's thoughts drift to Blaine with that statement and he wonders what the boy is doing. In the conversation on Wednesday, Blaine reported that his doctor wanted to move him to the rehab unit in the next couple of weeks to start building strength in his arm and leg again. He wishes he could be there to watch and offer support, to be Blaine's cheer person the way Blaine has tried to be a motivator to him this week. If he had access to weekend privileges, maybe he could visit Blaine and Lillian and make sure they both knew how much he cared about them.

"I'd like you to try talking to one new person every day. Just one at any point throughout the day. It can be a hello in the morning or a goodnight at dinner. It could be to ask someone for a pen, even if you already have your own." James has these irritating brown eyes that seem to be sparkling with amusement at his own plans, like he was taking great joy in putting Sebastian in positions that would make him desperately uncomfortable. "From next week, rather than obtaining bathroom passes, if you're wishing to get out of class for whatever reason, I'd like you to come here. I won't get you into trouble or note down how many times it happens, but this is a… Consider this a safe place where you can retreat to if you need some time to yourself."

Sebastian wonders if the reason for that offer is simply so he'll stop seeking bathroom passes. It almost makes him want to hurl, so he supposes it's an effective enough offer. Why can't the principal just find someone else to dote on and make into a charity case? He can't be the only new student starting mid-year, nor can he be the only one with external problems. James had said as much.

James gives him a long, measured stare that makes Sebastian's skin crawl. Is he meant to all to his knees and agree to the demands? Is he meant to lose his composure and start weeping, lamenting the illness that ravages his sister and explaining that his behaviour is because of the lack of parental figures in his life? Is he meant to throw something, explode with anger so he appears less like the numb, empty, blank slate that he feels? Is he mean to bargain for something, bartering his behaviour for his sister until James agrees that yes, he'll come along nicely?

Without waiting for the dismissal, he picks up his bag and walks out of the room. He thinks he hears James sigh but he's not intending to turn back and look.

So what if he adds a crackpot principal to the long list of people who are disappointed in him?

* * *

By Sunday, he's buckling under the strain of the schoolwork he has to complete and the lack of sense it makes. He'd thought his Geometry homework would be the simplest on his homework list, which would take him half an hour to complete, and then he could start trying to read something for one of his two History courses, but it's been two days and he doesn't have much to show for it. He never knew numbers that he's been familiar with since he was three could suddenly become incomprehensible squiggles on the page. He feels oddly betrayed.

"Are you okay?" Clarington asks, interrupting his frustrated attempts at concentrating. They haven't spoken in a week. He wishes it could have stayed that way. He has no interest in admitting to anything right now.

"Fine."

"It's just that you sound like you're having an asthma attack over there with all that huffing and puffing. Unless you're trying to blow the school down because you think you're the Big Bad Wolf, in which case try harder."

Sebastian looks over his shoulder with an incredulous expression but Clarington is completely immersed in the work in front of him, his hand moving across the page as he writes notes which are probably a lot neater than any of Sebastian's.

"I have a lighter," he mutters, feeling annoyed when Clarington's shoulder's shake.

"So you'd get through the house of straw and maybe the one of wood. What about when you encounter bricks? How do you burn those down?"

Sebastian scowls and looks back at his Geometry homework. He thinks he's already encountered the brick house because this topic is a fucking brick wall. He'll burn the fucking textbook and then show that it's entirely possible to burn down bricks.

"Fuck burning down the pigs' house. There's more than enough bacon in the world."

Clarington laughs. He sounds genuinely amused as the chuckle rumbles free of his throat. Sebastian's not sure if he's glad of the reaction or not.

"So now that we've established you enjoy being cruel to homeless animals, what are you struggling with?"

This time, Clarington's definitely looking at him. He can feel the loaded gaze of the other boy on him. He knows Montgomery said that his roommate was capable and intelligent but after their physical altercation last week, he hasn't felt particularly generous towards the boy. At least Clarington has offered him the space to thaw and claim some ownership of the room without assaulting him again.

"I'm not struggling," he mutters, his pride refusing to back down. He's not someone who asks for help. He's not someone who admits weakness or failure. He's not about to start now.

"Oh?"

He ignores Clarington and focuses his eyes on the page in front of him. He's fairly sure the letters and numbers aren't printed properly because they keep swimming across the page, moving around like they're in a pond that's being stirred.

He rubs his eyes and uses his finger to keep track of what he's looking at, which only marginally helps.

"You're looking for _y_ in these examples, not _x_," Clarington says his voice so close that it startles Sebastian into dropping his pen. His roommate looms over him, a hand reaching for Sebastian's exercise book. "You start off right but wait, why did you cross-multiply these?"

Sebastian's fairly sure Clarington is about to declare he's an absolute fool and then spread it to the whole school. He wishes he'd brought his Academic Excellence Award along with him to prove that he _was_ intelligent.

"Okay, hold on," Clarington murmurs, more to himself than anything, and strides back across the room. He returns a few seconds later with his chair, settling in too close for Sebastian's comfort. He doesn't understand why everyone just assumes he'll accept them being in his space. "Explain to me your thinking with this question."

"I don't _need_ your help," he grumbles, trying to twist his body so he's blocking Clarington from seeing whatever work is riddled with mistakes. Possibly all of it, but then he'll deal with his disappointed Geometry teacher because disappointing adults is what he does best. Unfortunately, he now has his back to Clarington and given last week, it's possibly even worse to be in this position if he can't see an attack coming.

"No, you don't _want_ my help. There's a distinct difference," Clarington explains, pushing Sebastian's arms until parts of his paper are exposed. "So I'm not going to ask you if you want it or not, I'm asking you what your thought process was so I can help you out."

Sebastian frowns, wanting to pull the sheets of paper to his chest defensively. Maybe he'll have to start studying in the library from now on, although then he could get the super nerds surrounding him and that would be even _more_ annoying. "Don't you have your own work to do?"

"Tons," Clarington answers easily, shrugging and crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, are you going to continue to be an ass or?"

Sebastian tries to hold onto his annoyance for as long as he can while Clarington stares at him expectantly. He manages to hold out for about three minutes before his shoulders sag and he deflates.

"I don't understand any of what I'm doing," he admits, looking at the page where the squiggles continue to move around. He thinks they're mocking his weakness at allowing Clarington to help.

"Okay, so let's go back to the start. You can't do the hard stuff if you haven't understood the foundations." Clarington grasps his textbook and flicks through the pages. "Start reading."

Sebastian swallows as his discomfort with the fuzzy, meandering words gets worse. Every time he tries to look harder, to mentally tell the words to just fucking stay _still_, they seem to wiggle a little faster in retaliation.

"Sebastian?"

"I… I can't…" he whispers lamely, folding his arms on the table and pressing his face into it because he's apparently gotten completely stupid and now his roommate is a witness to his stupidity and his face burns with the shame of it.

He doesn't understand what's going on and he's scared that maybe all the drugs have fried his brain. What if he can't complete freshman year? What if he keeps getting failed and held back and then he never goes to college? His mother is a doctor and his father is a state's attorney and Sebastian's completely incapable of completing fucking Geometry homework. There'd been a pipe dream once upon a time that he'd become something great in college, make some monumental contribution to a particular field and maybe _then_ his parents would notice him and be proud again. But now…

"Why can't you?" Clarington asks his voice gentling more than Sebastian suspected it was capable of. "Are the words blurry?"

"Sometimes," he mumbles against his arms. "They keep moving around."

"Okay." A hand lightly presses to his shoulder. "How about if I read and you listen?"

He shrugs, partially to get the hand off and partially to indicate he doesn't care what Clarington decides to do. There's some rustling as his textbook gets picked up from beside his elbow and then Clarington's voice starts reading out a passage of text.

Sebastian listens even though he doesn't really want to, although he gets distracted a few times and has to ask for it to be repeated. There are still a lot of things that don't make sense, which he suspects might be because of his absences more than Clarington's reading or his shitty ability to learn anything at the moment.

"Can you write down a summary of what I just said in your own words? It'll help you remember it better."

Sebastian sighs and peeks up from his arms to find his pen and start scrawling down the basics: something about _hypotenuse_ and _Pythagoras_, something about _units of measurement might change_. He writes a couple of sentences before his pen stills and he shrugs.

"Okay. That's a good start," Clarington says after he checks over his shoulder. "If I tell you what a shape looks like, can you draw it and fill in the details?"

It's an incredibly odd way to learn but Clarington sits with him for a couple of hours, reading out examples, describing the triangles, telling him the numbers to write, and then slowly helping him with working out the answers. He's still incredibly suspicious of Clarington's motives and fears for his reputation, but he begrudgingly has to admit that it helps and he gets through at least some of the work. He might have to explain to his Geometry teacher why more isn't done though, and he's not sure he's looking forward to that conversation.

"What about the homework for your other subjects?" Clarington asks suddenly when Sebastian complains he's had Math enough for the day.

"What about them?"

"Well, like… Is it hard to read those too?"

"Yeah," he mutters, folding his books into a pile to take with him tomorrow.

"Has it always been like that?"

Sebastian remembers the Academic Excellence Award. It _can't_ have always been like that because he'd had a year where he'd done extremely well. The first year after Lillian got sick, when he was twelve, when everything was changing and he realised he was losing his parents' interest in his existence. He'd managed to read Blaine's medical details with enough careful scrutiny, so surely that meant he was capable of reading. And yet…

"I've never noticed it this badly before," he says, picking at a varnish bubble on his desk as a distraction from what he's talking about. "It's been a while since I've tried to do school work and sat in classes."

"So you might have had this problem before you came? And it's not just an anxiety thing?"

Sebastian frowns. "Anxiety thing? No." Although there's definitely a part of him which is anxious about reading aloud or speaking up in class in case it's something wrong, he puts that down to the fact he's new and completely out of his depth. "I'm… I dunno. I guess I'm just dumb."

"I don't think so. You got through the work."

"With far too much of your help," he complains, pushing away from the desk to go to his closet and pull out a hoodie to hide in.

"Good to know it's appreciated," Clarington says, almost bordering on teasing, as he returns his chair to the other side of the room. "Have you had your eyes checked?

"My eyes?"

"Yeah. You know. If you need glasses for the fuzziness."

Sebastian's never really thought about it. He can't remember the last whole book he finished because any time he grew too bored at home, he tended to go out to find something to drink or smoke. There'd been that book about knights and dragons but he hadn't been able to make much sense of it, and that had had moving words too. If he closes his eyes and thinks about it, he can remember reading Blaine's file with his finger running along the lines and shifting the clipboard closer and further away from him. He hadn't paid any attention to it at the time because it's what he'd always done, but now it seems like Clarington is pointing out that his abilities, or lack of, are distinctly abnormal. He's not sure how to feel about it and maybe, just maybe, it scares him.

"I dunno," he mumbles, pulling the hoodie over his head and tucking his hands into the pockets in an attempt to hide his discomfort and how badly they shake.

He can tell Clarington's watching him and he no longer feels like a gangly five-foot-eight fifteen-year-old waiting to fill out his height, but something as small and insignificant as a mouse. "Well if you want help with anything else, you only have to ask," the boy says finally, grabbing a few things off his desk. "Dinner's in twenty."

"I know."

"See you there?"

Sebastian shrugs and lies down on his bed. He'll eat something because it's expected of him, but he's feeling despondent about his inability to read something. It's fucking embarrassing to look like he's a simpleton.

He listens to Clarington pull on some shoes and leave the room without another word. He can't help wondering if he's losing his mind.

He doesn't want to start wondering if maybe he's already lost it.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **5,700**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

The fucking teachers are in cahoots with each other.

It's the only reason for why all his lessons on Monday feature pop quizzes about the content from the previous week. Apparently they should either have learned it the first time or revised whatever they didn't know over the weekend.

Sebastian stares blankly at each piece of paper in front of him because even if he'd been more comfortable reading it, he certainly hadn't paid enough attention in class last week to know any of the answers. He attempts a few questions in Chemistry and American History, but British History and French are a complete waste of time. He has no background in those subjects to draw on and he's not entirely convinced that 'conjugate' is a real word when he manages to piece together the letters on a paper that tests a foreign language he's never studied.

By the time he gets to Literature, the last class before lunch, he already has an inkling of what's to come. He casts a look behind him at Clarington fist bumping some guy he recognises from the lunch table his roommate sits at with Montgomery. He wants to demand a reason about why he wasn't warned about this sort of torture. He can only hope that all these tests are something the teachers get off on, because it offers absolutely no form of pleasure to him or, he guesses, any of the other students in the room.

He muffles a groan when a paper goes down in front of him, although it's a bit different from the others. Rather than be specifically about the text they're apparently studying – _To Kill A Mockingbird_ – it's more about comprehension of passages of text and a written component.

He puts his head down with his finger dragging over sentences to hold the letters in place, scrawling down answers in the space provided. He's feeling better about this paper considering it's not so much about things he doesn't know but rather basic skills. It takes some time to decode what he's reading and put together an answer but it isn't impossible because of his crap attendance at his past schools or his difficulty paying attention last week and for that, he gives it a shot.

'_Write a story about characters that are either good or evil. You should consider why they're good or evil and what they do which shows these cliché, but common, human traits.'_

He stares at the creative writing question for several minutes, chewing the end of his pen. He could write about Lillian compared to his parents, but maybe that's too obvious. He knows that the principal is already aware of his parents' concerns for his welfare. There's no need to put his life story down in ink for a teacher to pass along with a worried look.

Instead, he starts to write a story about Blaine.

He changes the name and the place, and he makes up a lot of details because he doesn't know Blaine _that_ well. He writes about a boy with a secret that would ostracise him from society and as the writing develops, he remains deliberately obtuse about ever mentioning what the secret is. In some places, you could almost assume that he isn't gay but that he's a superhero, living a double life with a secret identity, or maybe, like Sebastian, he abuses drugs in his spare time. Throughout it all, whatever the secret is, the character remains loyal and honest, helpful and caring, to the people he encounters while something dark lurks on the edge of the story, threatening to derail the goodness within the character. He's never considered himself much of a writer, but he feels rather proud of the story he constructs.

He also never divulges what the secret is, because where's the mystery for the reader in that?

He puts his pen down and glances around him. Boys in blazers are still bent over desks, looping letters into words into paragraphs and it immediately makes him unsure that his story is long enough. What if it's too short? What if he hasn't answered the question properly?

His teacher collects the paper when she sees that he's done, whispering that he can continue reading the book if he likes. He wouldn't much like since he has a feeling that the words won't stay tethered to the page but he nods and removes it from his bag just so he looks like he's doing something.

When the bell goes, he nearly swears in relief and packs up his stuff to go to lunch. He's not particularly hungry but his brain needs a break and his-

"Sebastian, could you come here a moment, please?"

Or not.

"You're not in trouble," Mrs Fincher says with a kind smile, which kind of triggers the universal '_Oh shit, run!_' reaction in any student. "I just wanted to talk to you about your work and if I can offer you some assistance since you missed last semester."

He offers a strained smile and shakes his head. He should admit something to how much he's failing to understand, but he doesn't like thinking about it. He's trying to convince himself that with enough time he'll be able to catch up. "No, it's fine."

"Can we talk about your test?"

_Can we not_?

He bites down on a sigh and pulls up a chair to sit by her desk. She seems nice enough, rarely yelling in class despite this kid, Josh, who can't sit in his seat or stop his hands from thumping drum beats on the table, driving Sebastian mental. She's probably in her thirties, maybe her forties, and isn't nearly as threatening as the old woman in Chemistry who seems to be perfecting her owl screech of disapproval.

"Now, the first thing you need to know is that I got to know most of the other boys last semester," she says, sifting through the papers as she looks for his. "So this is more for me to get to know you and how to help you learn."

"Okay," he says slowly, watching his paper as it's pulled from the pile. He cringes when he sees that she's already graded the comprehension section and it's riddled with green.

"Have a look at the corrections first before you start worrying that you failed."

She must see the look on his face so he tries to neutralise it, accepting the paper and scanning over it. He's surprised that he can decode his handwriting better than the typed font of the passages, although he's not sure whether her handwriting is challenging because it's so swirly or because his eyes make it fuzzy. He notices quite a few ticks though so he figures he can't have done _too_ badly.

"Sebastian?"

Her prompting draws him from focusing on the confusion he feels because he _can_ read. Maybe that's why he could manage most of Blaine's medical charts, because they were handwritten. He finds himself wondering if the year he'd excelled at school when Lillian was sick had featured texts with large print and spaced words. They probably did.

"Sorry, did you ask something?"

"No, I…" She presses her lips together and gets him to place the paper on her table. She points to a section of the typed paragraphs he'd had to read earlier. "Can you read this for me?"

It reminds him of Clarington trying to make him read his Geometry textbook yesterday, how he'd forced into doing something that he hadn't wanted to do. It makes him incredibly defensive as he leans back and folds his arms over his chest. He doesn't want to look like a fool and he doesn't need any nosey teacher to start poking around in his life story. "What is this?"

"Literature, last I checked," Mrs Fincher says with a bright smile that, unfortunately, chips at his resolve. She reminds him a little of Blaine with her ridiculous optimism. "Just a few sentences are fine."

He sighs and leans forward, figuring that it's far more bearable to read a few sentences than the whole damn page again. His fingers press to the paper, pinning the floating words down and reading as slowly as he can to avoid making mistakes. He knows she's watching him and it makes his skin crawl, his fingers wobbling against the page as he gets increasingly self-conscious.

"Okay, I'll put you out of your misery and let you stop." Her hand touches the back of his arm and he stops and folds them together across his chest again. She gazes at him with interest and Sebastian struggles with not picking up his bag and running away. "Do you prefer silent reading or reading aloud?"

He frowns, wondering why it matters. She's clearly intelligent and fishing for answers he's far from willing to give. Maybe James has put her up to this. Maybe all his teachers are watching him closer this week.

"I don't like either," he says shortly, turning his attention away from her. If he reads aloud, it's slow and jumbled and he sounds stupid. If he reads in his head, he can't concentrate properly.

"Ah. So you're one of my boys who hate reading?" Her blue eyes twinkle as she takes the paper back and returns it to her pile of the others from the class. He's still uncomfortable about the amount of green comments.

He has to admit that she's good at the guilt trip, getting him to explain himself because he doesn't like the assumptions she makes. "No, it's… I can't concentrate properly if it's in my head," he says, biting his lip in a habit he thinks he's picking up from Blaine, "but reading aloud… I know I'm slow and I don't want it to seem like I'm stupid."

"I read through your creative piece, Sebastian."

His stomach flips, panic surging through his bloodstream and making his heartbeat quicken. So she _had_ read it. He hopes it wasn't so bad that she failed him. He's only been here a week. Can they expel him already for terrible grades? What would happen if they expelled him and his parents didn't want to deal with him? Where would he go? Would he have to-

"Judging from that, I don't think you're stupid at all. You have a wonderful way with words."

…oh.

He looks up at her with wide eyes but lacks any words to speak. He can't remember the last time his school work was praised by anyone. A huge part of that was probably his frequent non-attendance and complete disengagement from public school. It had been easy to slip between the cracks when he wasn't sure any of the teachers really cared about his education. They probably just wanted the latest gossip update on his sister to pass around.

"I've heard you've had some interruptions to your schooling, although no firm details," she adds quickly when he immediately feels the need to storm into the principal's office and smash his face in for betraying his trust. He didn't want all his teachers pitying him for Lillian's sickness the way that his previous schools had done. He could always tell when someone knew what was going on and cut him some slack. He hates being the charity case, the person voted least likely to succeed simply because he's always got something more important occupying his attention. He doesn't want to be the target of the teachers' _here_ too until it trickles to the students that there's something really wrong with him.

"I'd like to arrange for your eyes to get tested and then we'll review everything, okay?"

Like that list of questions he had for Blaine that he'll never ask, he has one for people at Dalton – why are they so goddamn _nice_?

Sure, the boys are snobby and pretentious – he's overheard more than enough conversations already of upperclassmen who talk like they've never heard the word 'no' in their life – but he has to admit that there are people who keep trying to ask him stuff and help him and he's completely unused to it. His parents haven't gone out of their way in years. His friends from middle school had drifted away and then dropped him by the time they reached high school. The weird friendliness of Dalton baffles him and leaves him wary of all of their motives.

He sighs, some of his ability to keep shooting these people down wilting when they keep trying. "Okay," he says with a shrug. He's not entirely sure what she's suggesting but he's already been considering the issues with his eyes since Clarington had talked about it last night and he's glad a teacher had picked up on it quickly and will sort something out because he hadn't had the faintest idea of who to talk to. He's pretty sure if he'd tried to call his mother and say his eyes were doing weird things, she'd either wave it off as a ploy for attention or claim that she was a doctor and there's no way she wouldn't have noticed he couldn't see properly.

"I can avoid asking you to read aloud in class if that would help too, but I'd like you to practice reading in your room."

A small weight is lifted from his shoulders at her words. If he doesn't have to read aloud in front of dozens of boys who could ridicule him for his weaknesses, then it greatly reduces the anxiety of even having to wait for his name to be called with the clear expectation that he'll answer. He's not sure if he's taking longer to understand the content because he's so behind or because of his reading problems – eyesight or not – but he spent most of last week terrified that he'd get asked a question about something he hadn't completed yet and look like a fool. Not to mention the amount of things which distract him, dragging his attention away from the task at hand. Josh's restlessness is a problem he's going to have to spend time trying to tune out.

"If there's anything you feel I can do to help you out as you make the transition to Dalton, will you let me know?"

He thinks about James wanting him to find a mentor. He might not ask Fincher right now, maybe he won't ever ask her because he's not sold on the idea of even _having_ a mentor, but he does notice that she checks to see _what_ hewants rather than making decisions for him and then asking if it's okay. He likes that. He likes having the opportunity to say yes or no.

"I don't know what there might be…" He fiddles with a button on his blazer and raises one shoulder in a shrug, feeling uncomfortable and wanting to get away.

"You're an intelligent boy. I'm sure you'll come up with many things once you get settled," Fincher says with a smile, folding her hands together on top of the table. "Off you go to lunch. Thank you for your time, Sebastian."

He tilts his head in acknowledgement, picks up his bag, and hurries off to lunch. He has absolutely no idea what just happened but he hopes there's no more pop quizzes for the day.

* * *

He struggles through until Thursday, receiving a number of quizzes with terrible grades from teachers who say his results are fine considering he "didn't really have an opportunity to learn the content anyway". It makes him wonder why they gave him the test in the first place. In the quiet safety of his room, he tries to make sense of the corrections but being told what he _should_ have written when he's not familiar with the subjects makes everything more confusing and he frequently just gives up with a frustrated huff.

On Thursday, a student comes to the door of his French class with a folded piece of paper with his name on it. He's led to a small office with a man he's never seen before unpacking a briefcase and fiddling with a computer. It turns out he's some sort of eye specialist that the school gets in from time to time and he wants to examine Sebastian's vision. He knows the ophthalmologists at the hospital and he remembers a visit to an optometrist when he was younger, but otherwise he has no idea what he's in for.

He wishes he had.

Over the course of the next hour, the optometrist runs through a variety of sight and reading tests. A ridiculous amount of lenses get placed in front of his eyes while he attempts to read sections of words in a range of different typefaces until Sebastian wants to peel his eyeballs from their sockets and crush them into gloopy messes on the table because they'd probably be more useful to him. He wishes he could scream at the guy.

"Thank you for being so patient today, Sebastian," Doctor Adams says as he begins packing away the assorted equipment before he pulls up a seat opposite Sebastian at the desk. "Would you like to hear my professional opinion?"

There's an incredibly sarcastic '_No, of course not, I've just let you play with my eyes for fun_' that makes his tongue twitch against his teeth. He quickly bites down on it and nods politely instead.

"Right then." Doctor Adams links his hands together on top of the table and leans forward. Sebastian's ascertained that he's a rather no-nonsense fellow, someone who Sebastian thinks might have had a steel rod implanted to replace his spine given with how stiffly he's moved around during the course of the tests. "I think there's a dual issue here. One is what we would call hyperopia, or farsightedness. It means you can see the whiteboard clearly but reading is a bit fuzzy. Does that sound familiar?"

He nods and scrunches his eyes shut for a moment because they're _still_ watering from all those lenses.

"Alright. My second assessment is that there is an underlying difficulty with reading, which I think you already know."

Well _duh_. Sebastian doesn't need a degree in eyes to know _that_.

"It's interesting that you find handwriting easier to read than words which are typed. I think it could be of great benefit to you if I pass along this information to your teachers as they can make adjustments to your classwork while your glasses are organsied."

Doctor Adams pauses and tilts his head, probably because Sebastian's scowling at the idea of his teachers knowing things again. First his sister, now the fact he can't read? They'll have a field day with all this gossip and he hates it. His skin prickles with the realisation that his fresh start has already spun out of his control.

"I'll only share it if you're comfortable, but it's nothing to be ashamed of and now that you know, it would only increase your ability to achieve."

Sebastian hate hate _hates_ that anything will get passed along, but Adams plays the guilt trip card like Fincher. He brings up the possibility of improving and he supposes that's important because he doesn't want to fail if something can be done. He's forced to concede that if it makes school more bearable than it's been the past couple of weeks, then maybe he has to take the offer. He'd be a fool not to if the alternative is to repeatedly fail freshman year.

Doctor Adams gives him a web address which apparently will offer dozens of frames he can choose for his new glasses. It's not as good as if he had the chance to take them on and off, to see what suited his face, but Sebastian supposes it's one of the many prices he has to pay for being a student at Dalton rather than living freely at home and visiting an optometrist store.

* * *

At breakfast on Friday, he gets issued with a new schedule. It's removed French and British History and he now has Photography and Art. He's not entirely sure why the change has been made because he hadn't been asked about it, but he's not sorry to see the loss of a language that made such little sense. Perhaps this 'underlying reading difficulty' would make French too hard for him right now and he can't find it in him to be particularly disappointed.

Besides, anyone and everyone can take photos and draw, right?

* * *

_From: Unknown_

_I bribed Therese into letting me know that your sister is still in the PICU. No change, but that it's better than a decline. You're welcome!  
- B_

The message is waiting for him at the end of his last class and he thinks it's probably worth the price of enduring Biology for the past hour. Nothing had made sense when he'd tried reading from the textbook so instead he'd let his lab partner, Simon, take the lead on the experiment of dissecting the frog. He couldn't have held the scalpel steady anyway and it would have meant they butchered the frog for no scientific gain.

Although he feels rather nauseous at knowing what now lay inside a frog.

He's not sure he has it in him to go into surgery but he's not sure his mother will be disappointed. He's not sure the levels go that high.

He ducks his head as boys move in a hundred different directions after the last bell of the day, pushing through the crowds as they push back until he finally tumbles into his room. Clarington is, blessedly, not around. Sebastian's not sure if he has something on or not but for now, all that matters is the room is _his_.

He takes out his phone and immediately hits the dial button, waiting anxiously until it gets answered on the third ring.

"You got my message?"

"No, I just magically knew which number to call," he says, his smile barely contained as he tosses his bag under his desk, throws his blazer over the chair, loosens his tie, and basically _hurls_ himself at the bed. It's always good to hear Blaine's voice but now that he knows he has the other boy's mobile number, it opens up new possibilities for their communication.

"My, my. You _are_ turning out to have a lot of special talents," Blaine teases and Sebastian laughs as he makes himself comfortable on the bed.

"You have _no_ idea," he replies, before realising the possible sexual connotations of what he said. Apparently Blaine picks up on it too if his flabbergasted choking sound is anything to go by. He tucks his arm beneath his head and tries to rein in the grin spreading across his face. "So you bribed Therese, huh?"

"Yeah. I promised her I'd start sitting up on the edge of the bed and allowing the blood to properly circulate to my feet and stuff before they start trying to get me to walk." Blaine doesn't sound pleased with the deal he made which makes Sebastian grimace. He can't imagine how hard it's going to be to recover from the injuries Blaine sustained. It will probably be incredible if he manages to properly walk without a pronounced limp.

"Well… Thanks," he says honestly, because it's the first piece of news he's had about Lillian since he got delivered to Dalton's hallowed doors two weeks ago. He'd considered messaging his parents, but he hadn't wanted that to seem like an olive branch to being a good son. He's still too furious with them for that.

"Don't mention it. How's Dalton?"

He forgets that it's been more than a week since he really had the opportunity to talk to Blaine, so he details the change to his class from this morning – "_Sounds like those classes should be more fun, although French is a cool language to get the opportunity to learn._" – and the eye tests yesterday – "_You'll probably look like a hot hipster with glasses and all the girls will throw themselves at you!"_. He doesn't mention the reading problems nor does he say anything about his poor pop quiz results. He can't shake off the feeling of being too stupid for this school, surrounded by boys who all seem so effortlessly composed and capable.

"Have you made friends yet?"

He hasn't spoken to Montgomery all week because he's unsure of where, exactly, that…acquaintanceship lies. Clarington has offered him some help with his work though, reading aloud passages of their American History textbook for them both to take notes from as well as explaining more of the Geometry foundations he doesn't have. He wouldn't go as far to say they're _friends_, but they're at least civil as they negotiate completing work together.

"Not really."

"Sebastiaaaaaaan!" Blaine whines and it tugs at his heart when he remembers Lillian sounding like that once. She was about five and he wouldn't give her a lick of his chocolate ice-cream as they walked home from chasing down the ice-cream truck. He'd told her she wouldn't like her lemon ice lolly and he'd been right, so then she'd spent the walk home drawing out the vowels in his name in an effort to swap ice-creams.

And giggling like the little charmer that she was when he'd given in.

"I have a lot to be dealing with right now. Friends aren't very high on my priority list."

"Yeah, but-" Sebastian can almost _hear_ the pout he suspects is on Blaine's face, "I'm going to be moving to the rehab ward soon and complaining more. I don't want you to feel like you can't talk to me when I turn into a big baby and you don't have anyone else."

It's sweet, in an odd sort of way, that Blaine thinks he needs friends because the other boy is about to have to use his left limbs for the first time in months. He's pretty sure he could handle any and all of Blaine's complaining without feeling bad or noticing the absence of any friends.

"I've never been huge on the whole 'friends' thing, Killer. Not having anyone to talk to never bothered me before."

"Because you got drunk and high when you couldn't cope?"

"Shut up."

The warmth he'd felt towards Blaine's endearing level of care for his wellbeing had been tempered by Blaine's painfully astute observation. Blaine laughs breathily because he knows he's right and Sebastian lets his eyes close to listen to it. He won't admit how close Blaine is to being right. Instead, he tries to imagine Blaine in the hospital bed after two weeks of healing and growing stronger, wondering what he'd look like without his arm and leg in bulky plaster.

"I miss seeing you and Lillian," he admits quietly, wondering if that's a really weird thing to say. He doesn't want to encourage any sort of crush for Blaine, but he _does_ miss seeing him as well as his sister. His feelings towards the boy are a mess. His grasp of whether he's gay because he's hooked up with guys is beyond him. Can two gay guys _be_ 'just friends' or is it like the idea that a straight guy and girl can't _just_ be friends?

He's pretty sure he can hear Blaine's smile over the phone though as he speaks though, so he decides maybe his confession is worth it. "I'm sure Lillian misses seeing you as much as I do, Seb."

A faint smile returns to his face as the warmth flickers alive again, which is around the time that Clarington finally enters the room. They exchange a nod of acknowledgment as his roommate crosses the room, places his bag on the floor, takes off the outer layers of his uniform followed by his shoes. He idly watches Clarington begin unpacking his bag.

"Hey, what are you doing about school?" Sebastian says suddenly when he sees Clarington aligning the edge of his books with the corner of the table like he always does on Fridays, preparing himself for the early morning Saturday Study ritual. His roommate is seriously _weird_.

Blaine sighs and Sebastian almost feels bad for asking. "My teachers put together a little study kit thing for me to do while I'm recovering, but my rehab guru told me I probably won't get back to school until the fall," Blaine admits, sounding quiet and sad. "My parents have said I wouldn't go back anyway because it's 'too dangerous'."

"You can't blame them for _that_, though," Sebastian points out. He's pretty sure if Blaine's parents had permitted his return to middle school after the injuries the boy had suffered, he'd go around with his own baseball bat and break their arms and legs to see how they coped with returning to the sight of their attack.

"I told them for _months_ before the attack about getting pushed around, Seb. They never cared then." Blaine sounds so tired, almost disappointed in his parents. It's a tone Sebastian recognises as one he's used before. The distance of Blaine's parents from a very real problem is one he's familiar with too.

"Oh," he says dumbly. He doesn't know how to use his words to react. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's just… Fall seems a long time away so it's hard to… I guess the road to recovery is just longer than I'd thought," Blaine says, his voice fading away as he stumbles through his explanation. He feels so bad for Blaine that he's determined to try to turn the conversation around.

"Who knew it would take you so long to learn how to use your bionic limbs properly?" he muses and is delighted when Blaine giggles. Clarington looks over his shoulder with a puzzled expression. He supposes the conversation probably _does_ sound strange if you're only hearing one side of it.

"You're a jerk, Seb," Blaine says with no malice in his tone. It sounds almost …fond. Sebastian's not sure he's ever heard someone sound so warm towards him, especially when they're issuing an insult.

"Yet you sent me a text so I have your number, which means you're planning on putting up with me." He pauses and listens to Blaine's breathy giggle. "Does that make you exceptionally generous or a fool?"

"I'm possibly both," Blaine replies, and Sebastian can imagine the thoughtful expression on the boy's face when he says it.

"Then you're both. You're welcome."

Blaine laughs again and it makes Sebastian smile to hear it, his insides turning fuzzy and warm. He can already guess there will be months of rehabilitation and physical therapy ahead of Blaine. Having an enormous cloud of uncertainty over his schooling future can't be helpful. What happened if Blaine failed to complete his last semester of middle school? Or would his parents ensure he still becomes a freshman at…a school somewhere? Where will Blaine attend in the fall? The range of questions he starts contemplating have surely run through Blaine's mind too yet he's sounding pretty strong and positive about everything. He's capable of teasing and being teased to the point of laughing. Sebastian's not sure he'd be the same if he had such injuries under such circumstances. He's certainly not feeling very positive at the moment and he doesn't face anything nearly that uncertain.

"Send me a photo when you get the glasses?" Blaine asks, a hint of uncertainty in his voice which Sebastian doesn't understand but can't help prodding at.

He grins. "I'll send you a handkerchief for the drool on your chin too."

Blaine squawks and mutters a clearly embarrassed goodbye before the line goes dead. It's an abrupt, odd reaction that Sebastian will have to think about later.

"Who the hell was that?" Clarington says as soon as Sebastian puts the phone on his bedside table. His roommate is clearly scrutinising him and Sebastian wonders if there's a flashing sign on his head that makes him so interesting.

"None of your business," he says and folds his arms over his chest. He feels like Lillian when she doesn't get her way about trying to push her bedtime later. He doesn't want to seem like a bratty child.

Clarington watches him a moment more before picking up a book and getting comfortable on the bed. "Maybe it's not, but it's also the most animated and happy I've seen you since you got here."

He can still feel the eyes on him and he wonders if Clarington expects that the answer will magically appear if he just _stares_ long enough.

It won't, though.

Blaine is Sebastian's special secret weapon in fighting the melancholia when he's sober. He's a boy wise beyond is years and filled with his own intricacies and complexities. He's someone that Sebastian is friends with and he doesn't want some asshole like his roommate to get the wrong idea. He has no intention of sharing his friendship with Blaine with anyone, but _especially_ not Clarington.

"Then don't push your luck so far that I lose the smile," Sebastian says relatively calmly, snatching up his phone to find a game to play. It's a Friday. He has absolutely no intention to do something as academically pompous as _reading_, even if it might help him catch up some of his school work.

Clarington rolls his eyes and finally turns his attention to the book in his hands. "I'll get it out of you one day," he murmurs and Sebastian wonders why it matters so much. Does his roommate expect they'll be _friends_ that share secrets? He knows very little about Clarington and he has zero interest in learning anything. He sees no reason why he should be expected to offer any information of his own. He hasn't forgotten being pushed up against the wall. He doesn't need his fears to be used against him by someone that dangerous and volatile.

"Good luck with that," Sebastian mutters because he knows he'll never part with anything. He taps an application and taps the screen again to begin playing, tilting the phone from side to side to steer the racing car around a corner.

A tense silence settles between them.

* * *

_**~TBC~**_


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: **Creeping On A Stranger  
**Word Count: **5,661**  
Summary: **Seblaine Week 2014: Day 1 (Alternative Meeting). Sebastian has always had a habit of getting in the way and making a nuisance of himself. Since his little sister had gotten sick when he was eleven, he has spent years trying to gain back the attention of his parents.**  
****Disclaimer:** I am in no way associated with _Glee_, FOX, Ryan Murphy or anything else related to the FOX universe.  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** None in particular for this chapter.

* * *

Sebastian begrudgingly accepts Clarington's help with the never-ending pile of homework over the weekend because he's fairly sure that if he doesn't, he's going to get kicked out for being a monumental academic failure. Sometimes he feels something he supposes is guilt, because he's so slow and requires Clarington to explain and re-explain the information on the page several times before he starts to get it, but Clarington – for all his self-satisfied smugness as he points out things in their textbooks – insists that it's the same content he needs to learn anyway and teaching it is helping him gain a better understanding.

With enough help, he successfully completes the homework he has for Geometry, American History and Biology and feels better prepared for any quizzes that those teachers might want to hit him with on Monday. Blaine texts him over the weekend with random anecdotes about his day from the hospital bed, such as the terrible food that consists of a lot of pureed vegetables or lack of cable so he's reduced to relying on tacky shows that the masses watch, that help Sebastian feel some semblance of normality, feel some semblance of a connection to someone beyond the Dalton walls that has demons of his own. His fingers trace over the letters until they form words he understands and painstakingly types out responses.

Late at night, when he stares at the ceiling and listens to Clarington's snuffling snores, he wonders why his parents haven't messaged him about Lillian's progress, or lack thereof.

His glasses arrive on Wednesday and he snaps a photo to send to Blaine. Having the glasses helps reduce the furriness around the edge of words although the letters still swim around the page and he sits anxiously in classes, constantly worried a teacher might call on him for an answer or to read a paragraph from the textbook. Mrs Fincher has told him to return at the end of each day for additional help in reading but he refuses to concede he needs it. Even if the glasses help, he feels foolish wearing them.

And that's not even a fraction of how he feels because he can't _read_ properly.

A routine gradually develops as the days blend into weeks, where Clarington helps him with aspects of his homework and teachers give him some extra time to get it done without actually asking him if he wants it. He realises that the rare times he's called on in class aren't anything that might embarrass him and his difficulty and he starts to wonder if they collude to talk about him as much as he suspects. He thinks they probably all know about his inability and are committed to either leaving him out of discussions about something related to the readings or they're attempting to reduce his nervousness about turning up to class. He's not sure which option he'd prefer.

After Blaine is moved to the rehab unit during the first week of February, his phone goes through days of silence. He types texts out with a Herculean effort but they all go unanswered. It makes him wonder if he can convince James to get some weekend leave to visit the boy and his sister, if he can attempt to offer them both some support and encouragement. When Blaine finally _does_ call, his sentences are short as he explains he's tired and weak, too exhausted to talk for long. Sebastian can't help but notice that his voice is softer and sadder than he's ever heard before. It increases his determination to visit Blaine, but he fears he hasn't done anything to earn any of the privileges that would enable him to go.

* * *

By the third weekend in February, Sebastian has noticed such a marked decline in the enthusiasm or hope in Blaine's calls and texts that he knows he no longer has any choice but to go to James' office and try to negotiate his way out of school for a few hours on Saturday. His sole focus has become Blaine, with Lillian a close second. He knows she's still in the PICU and he's starting to think – in the dead of night when he can't sleep – that she might never leave.

James seems almost suspiciously jovial as he reviews Sebastian's academic progress and attendance record. He's managed to go to all his classes but his marks remain low, mostly because he's still having problems with reading. The glasses have helped, having Clarington as some sort of….study buddy has helped, but his work is riddled with errors that he's pretty sure some of his teachers take a perverse pleasure in pointing out to him with red or green ink splashed across his books and papers.

"So tell me, Sebastian. Why is it you wish to leave this weekend?" James asks, his hands falling away from the laptop that holds Sebastian's grades, his history of failed attempts at trying to do better for the sake of Blaine and Lillian.

Sebastian looks down at his hands, the way they twist together and settle in his lap. He knows he can't mention Blaine here. He's not sure what sort of dialogue may exist between the principal and his parents. "My sister is sick and I haven't seen her in six weeks."

"How humanitarian of you," James surmises, bordering almost on sarcasm. It makes the hairs on the back of Sebastian's neck raise, his defensiveness over Lillian ruffled by James' cavalier attitude. The only reason he tamps down on his bitter words is because the man pulls a sheet from one of the many trays on his desk and begins writing on it. "There is a bus which stops outside our gates at eight, nine and ten in the morning on Saturdays. It deposits students on our doorstep at two, three and four in the afternoon. You may catch whichever bus you wish in and out, but ensure you return otherwise I will be forced to call your parents and the police."

Sebastian feels something flurry to life in his belly and his chest as he nods at the information, knowing he wouldn't dare break the rules and suspecting James knows that perfectly well. The last thing he needs is his parents contacted. After the chasm of silence between them since he was dropped off at Dalton, he has no intention to explain to them that he went to visit Lillian and someone else they've never heard of.

He takes the leaving form signed by James with him and calls Blaine on the walk back to his room, his steps lighter than they've been in weeks.

"So hypothetically, if I wanted to get you something to cheer you up, what would your room number be?" he says as innocently as he can, passing a landscape of somewhere in Italy that means he's definitely on the right path to getting back to his room. He still gets lost in the myriad of similar corridors sometimes.

"4803," Blaine answers after a pause laden with suspicious interest. "Why?"

"I already told you why," Sebastian says with a grin, wondering if he might get some flowers to take to Blaine, an attempt at brightening the boy's mood as well as his room. It amuses him how similar Blaine's room number is to his own, but he keeps that to himself. "How are you doing?"

Blaine sighs, the sound wobbling unsteadily and betraying his distress. "My leg is really weak," he mumbles, something Sebastian has heard several times already. He doesn't dare ask Blaine if he'll ever be able to properly walk again on a leg that was so badly broken, but he suspects it's something Blaine might think about a lot and the weight of it has dragged him down.

Sebastian slows in his walk through the corridor, searching for the right thing to say when he tended to be awful at helping anyone. "Then you just need to keep trying to build up the strength, right? You had a lot of months not using it. It's to be expected."

"Yeah, but… I feel like a child learning to walk all over again," Blaine admits, his voice soft enough over the line that Sebastian thinks might be because he's ashamed to admit his weakness the same way that Sebastian won't admit he's struggling to read.

Undeterred, Sebastian tries to find a way to lighten the sadness in Blaine's tone. "Well then, just imagine how great you'll be at walking after learning _twice_!"

When Blaine stays silent instead of offering a quiet laugh like he'd hoped, he's struck with gratitude that James permitted him to visit his sister and, unknowingly, Blaine. The boy on the phone is nothing like the positive person he'd last seen in early January.

Clarington is in their room when he opens the door. He's forced to end the call because his roommate is so incredibly nosy about whom he speaks to so often. Concern blooms in his belly at Blaine's barely audible farewell. He almost decides to tell Blaine he's coming rather than surprise him, but the call ends before he gets the chance.

"Your mystery person again?" Clarington says, looking up from reading his British History textbook with an amused expression. Sebastian really, _really_ wants to point out that it's a Friday afternoon and his roommate should take some time off from studying, but that might sound like he cares and he'd never want _that_ to happen.

"It can be whoever you want it to be," Sebastian says without the faintest care in the world, discarding his blazer over the back of his desk chair and searching for fresh clothes to change into. He still craves the comforting warmth of his hoodies and jerseys to the constriction of a uniform that reminds him of all he's lost.

"Which means yes."

Sebastian shrugs and picks out a pair of jeans, t-shirt and jersey to wear when he visits Lillian and Blaine the next day. There's not much which his roommate could say that would dampen his mood right now.

* * *

His sleep is as restless as always while he spends hours lying awake, except this time he's imagining a thousand different scenarios of what he'll say to Lillian and Blaine when he sees them. His alarm beeping is almost a relief, even though Clarington groans something about how _it's a Saturday_ and _could he_ _please shut the fucking thing off_?

He'd already decided to make the most of his day escaping the school. It means he's the only boy on the 8am bus into Westerville, but he fails to see that as a bad thing. He unexpectedly discovers a benefit to being a local boy – he knows without asking exactly where to go so he can transfer buses to the route that takes him to the hospital. By 8.35, he's outside the hospital doors.

Around two this morning, he thought it best to visit Lillian first, just in case his parents stopped by later. He also figured she would be in a drug-induced haze from night-time sedation whereas in a few hours, Blaine would be more alert and grateful for his company – or so he hoped – for the extended period of time he could stay.

He spies a few nurses and doctors that he recognises and who he knows recognise him. He wonders if they'll scurry off to call his mom and report that _he's here_ and _isn't he meant to be at boarding school now_ and _should they call security to escort him from the premises_?

He's so early that the PICU is empty of visitors lingering in the corridors of sick children. It makes it easy to get into Lillian's room and shut the door behind him. He feels furtive, like it's a covert mission he can't afford to be caught carrying out, but he knows he can't afford to get caught. His parents could get here within half an hour and pitch a fit.

The room is dim except for a thin strip of sunlight illuminating a section of linoleum and casting light and shadow over his sister's face. He can't tell if it's a trick of the light that makes her look paler than he remembers, more sallow and small and frail. His heart quivers as quick as a hummingbird's wings as he approaches her, brushing his fingertips through her hair before kissing her forehead gently.

"Sebby?"

He draws away, startled at being caught. When he looks into green eyes that look vague and dulled, his eyes water as he hopes it's because of the medication. He slips his fingers between hers and offers her the best smile he can when he can already feel his emotions crumbling into dust.

"Hey, kiddo," he murmurs, tracing the prominent curve of her cheekbone gently with his index finger. She smells like antiseptic and illness, and yet there's still something faintly sweet about her scent that he knows is solely _Lillian_.

"I've missed you," she whispers, her tiny hand raising his to her chest. He can feel her heart beating and it's hard not to break down in tears because he wonders how much it struggles to keep beating every day while he struggles to abide by rules he never wanted to come down on him.

"More or less than how much I've missed you?" he says, shifting her over so he can wriggle in beside her and let her head rest against his shoulder.

She rolls her eyes and everything about it reminds him of himself. He hadn't expected her to have picked up on so many of his mannerisms after years slipping in and out of alertness. "More. _Duh_."

He chokes on a wet laugh, his fingers carding through her hair and cradling her jaw. Her gaze is still blurred but there's a faint smile curling her pale pink lips. He can't help but marvel at how she's more aware than she was a month ago. He wishes his parents had called to update him on this. It feels like if she can maintain a conversation filled with gentle teasing, she must be getting better.

"Why'd you make mom and dad so upset that they sent you away?" Lillian says suddenly, tilting her head into his hand. His thumb runs around the dark circles that ring her eyes like a raccoon and he wants so badly to get rid of them and make her look healthy and happy. She's too young to look so exhausted and it's a stark reminder that she remains terribly ill.

He cuddles her gently, mindful of jostling the range of wires and leads and cords and tubes attached to her tiny body. "Because they knew I could look after myself and wanted to make sure they could focus on taking care of you," he lies, hoping it sounds as convincing as he wants it to be. Anyway, maybe it's the truth. He doesn't want his sister knowing the extent of his destructive behaviour.

Lillian smiles at him sadly, as if she can see straight through his thin façade. "Don't you wish you could be here more?"

Something twists in his chest, painful and raw, and it sinks into his stomach with an uncomfortably heavy coldness. "Every day."

He leans down to kiss the top of her head, hoping to comfort her, but her sad smile stays in place as she scrutinises him. She's wise for an eleven year old, wiser than some of the boys he goes to school with. It's this aspect of his sister, the one that's his best friend and the object of so much of his affection who sees him for who he truly is, that he misses the most. He misses having someone to confide his secrets to that will still cuddle him at the end of it. She's someone that he's folded into his bed so many times, holding her tiny body in his arms after a nightmare that left her trembling with weak sobs. She's someone that he's encouraged to eat another spoonful of food in the hopes that it will keep her strength up to fight another day. It's why, even as she steals all the attention from his parents, he can't hate her.

"Promise me something?" she says, squeezing his hand against her own and drawing him away from his reverie. He looks at her with a raised eyebrow, wondering what on earth he's meant to promise an eleven year old. "Don't be a bitter teenage boy because of me."

His eyes widen in surprise, wondering where she learned those sorts of words. It sounds like something his parents might have said and he tries not to think that maybe she'd overheard them discussing him in such terms as she'd lapsed in and out. "I'm not _bitter_."

"Seb, I love you, but I know you hurt too." Her thumb brushes over his knuckles, something he thinks is determination glittering in her tired eyes. "You want to be this brave big brother in front of me but all those feelings have to go _somewhere_."

He pouts at her. It's not fair than an eleven year old who has missed copious amounts of school is this intelligent and it's being wasted by an illness that ravages her most vital organ. "Stop being so smart," he complains mildly.

She giggles and cuddles into his side with a fond smile. "Love you, dummy."

His heart swells at her words, something he hadn't heard in far too long. Getting out of school this weekend was the best thing he could have done because his sister is more lucid than she'd been in months. All his weeks of missing her, all his weeks of worrying about her ailing health, have been erased with her confident tactility, her ability to maintain a conversation. "I love you too, Lils."

He stays with her for nearly an hour, long after she's fallen asleep against his shoulder. It's when the clock nears ten above her doorway that he starts worrying his parents might show up. He _really_ doesn't want to run into them. Lillian barely stirs as he untangles their hands and bodies, sliding free of the bed and ensuring she's comfortable and tucked in. He whispers a prayer as he kisses her forehead, another prayer in millions of unanswered ones where she gets a heart and survives all this. He'd never be prepared to say goodbye to her.

Therese is on duty and eyeing him from the nurse's desk when he leaves the room. "Why are you here?" she demands, her lips curling into an unpleasant sort of smile that makes him think he's done for.

"Weekend privileges," he says with a shrug and glancing towards Lillian's closed door, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches the nurse's station. "I wanted to see Lillian."

"Do your parents know?"

"Nope." He leans against the counter and flashes his best grin. "Can you keep a secret?"

Her eyes narrow at him and he thinks she'll protest. Maybe she's wised up to his flirtatious ways and won't stand for it anymore. Maybe the hospital has his photo circulating so that if he showed up at Lillian's bedside, security would automatically be called to escort him away. Maybe she's stalling him now as they stomp around in the lift while it clatters slowly upwards to the sixth floor.

"You're lucky I've known you since you were born and I've seen how much you love your sister, Sebastian," Therese mutters and waves her hand to shoo him away. His grin widens into something far more honest as he skips towards the elevator to travel to his next destination.

* * *

The door to Blaine's room is open when he arrives outside it with a small bunch of multi-coloured flowers from the gift shop downstairs. He feels awkward holding them, like it borders on being a romantic gesture rather than a friendly one. He'd expressly asked for flowers that were cheerful and for a friend and he'd been presented with a bunch of unfamiliar flowers that are bright yellows and oranges and whites. He doesn't _think_ they seem too romantic...

Blaine is propped up in bed with a book in his lap and wearing a ridiculously large navy blue hoodie when he enters. He takes a brief moment to admire his profile before he realises that whatever Blaine is reading is so engrossing that it thoroughly holds his attention and Sebastian is forced to clear his throat. He watches the book tumble to the floor with a dull _thud_, the pages splayed open by a parted spine.

"_Seb_?" Gold eyes grow wide as they stare at him in astonishment. "_Please_ tell me you aren't a hallucination because I'm totally not ready to go to a psych ward."

"What would I say that a hallucination wouldn't?" he says calmly, placing the flowers on the window ledge and offering a smile to the boy that is making grabby hands at him.

"No idea. Now come here!"

He chuckles as Blaine twists on the bed with his arms impatiently spread. The sheet slips from his lap and Sebastian notices he's wearing shorts and the expanse of skin beneath them has a left leg surrounded by a metal brace. He can see a scar on the outside, running the length of his leg, which he may get an opportunity to examine later. Even with the brace, it's impossible to miss how much smaller it looks compared to his healthier, unbroken leg.

For now, he steps close enough to the boy that he can drape his arms around Blaine's shoulders and he feels the weight of Blaine's arms around his waist and what he suspects is the jut of a brace around his left arm against his back.

"You're _here_," Blaine breathes in amazement and Sebastian realises Blaine's hands are shaking as they fist into the back of his jersey.

"Surprise?"

"_God_ yes." Blaine mutters, clinging tighter and pressing his face against Sebastian's shirt. "I've wanted to do this for months."

He lowers his head to rest against Blaine's hair, flattening curls beneath his cheek as his fingers rub gentle circles into the back of Blaine's neck. He can feel the other boy unwinding, the strong grip against his clothes beginning to loosen as he relaxes. He wonders when Blaine last had any sort of comfort or care or affection.

Blaine lets go after several long minutes of holding on, wiping at his cheeks and eyes which Sebastian deigns not to acknowledge. Blaine pats the space beside him and he settles on the edge, his legs dangling over the side, his toes brushing against the floor.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Blaine asks, looping his arm through Sebastian's and leaning into his bicep. It's strangely intimate but he finds he doesn't really mind.

"I was hoping it would make you happier if you didn't already know," he says, tracing his fingers lightly over Blaine's arm as the boy holds onto him.

"Well… Thank you."

"You're welcome."

He noses at Blaine's hair, the softest of kisses getting nestled among his curls like he does with bestowing affection on Lillian. They sit together like that for a while, gazing towards the window even though the blinds are only partially open. He doesn't want to question why he feels so content with Blaine, why everything that has made him antsy for weeks has slowed and fallen silent. It's the sort of peace he longed for late at night, when Clarington was snoring softly and Sebastian was filled with regret that he hadn't smuggled in a few bottles or joints to take it all away.

Blaine eventually has to lay down, his weakened muscles still gaining strength after so many months spent reclining and unable to move. Sebastian distantly wonders if Lillian will have to go through a rehab program to gain back her own muscles. It suggests she'll be healthy enough to one day leave the PICU and it remains too unlikely to fully consider, so he pushes it away.

"How's Lilian?" Blaine says when he's settled against Sebastian's shoulder, similar to his sister earlier. Their fingers thread together around Blaine's brace and he breathes calmly and deeply, free of his worries for the first time in ages.

So he tells the boy about his sister, then details what Dalton is like and the slow improvement in his grades as a result of a lot of patient guidance from Clarington. He rattles off stories about the food being better than what his mother could do and he mentions Mrs Fincher's unusual teaching methods (probably for him to still do the work) and his surprise that no one had commented on his glasses. He neglects to mention any details about his limited reading abilities or the mentor he's yet to secure. He doesn't say that he lacks friends or memberships to any of the school clubs.

Blaine listens and prompts him occasionally with questions, requesting more details for something Sebastian had skimmed over. He realises how relaxed he is as Blaine's hand stays held in his own and watches the honey-coloured eyes gain life and sparkle again. When he's all out of his own recollections to share, he encourages Blaine to talk about the progress he's making in the rehab program. He can tell Blaine's left hand is smaller beneath the brace and suspects the rest of his arm is similar to his leg. Blaine is clearly frustrated as he vents about his minimal progress despite his best – and most stubborn – efforts, shifting his braced leg as he explains how uncomfortable and painful it is to wear something so restrictive.

"You'll get there," Sebastian assures, squeezing Blaine's hand and rubbing his thumb against the knuckles. "And then you'll wonder why you struggled so much."

Blaine offers an unhappy smile. Sebastian presses his lips together in disappointment because he knows he's crappy at offering comfort. Instead, he decides to swap the hand that holds Blaine's so he can wrap his arm beneath Blaine's head to hold him closer. Something crinkles across the boy's brow before he exhales and the expression fades.

"I still can't believe you're here," Blaine murmurs, his nose pressing into Sebastian's shoulder as his eyes slowly close. He wonders if Blaine feels as content as him. He can't help observing the length of the eyelashes that curve against his cheek.

"It had been too long."

Blaine hums in agreement, low and sleepy. Sebastian watches his breathing start to lengthen and deepen and he wonders if Blaine has still been having nightmares that are wearing his sanity thin and whether that's contributing to his low mood. He doesn't know much about psychology but maybe Blaine has that condition people develop after they experience something too horrific to cope with. He doesn't want to try imagining what it must have been like for Blaine to be beat up so badly. He's never asked for any details. He's not sure he wants to.

He finds the remote for the TV hanging from the rail of the bed and turns it on with the volume so low he can barely hear a thing. He wants Blaine to get as much peaceful rest as possible and he no intention to leave Blaine until he absolutely has to. He suspects Blaine doesn't get visitors nearly as much as Lillian and it makes him wish he could visit more. It's easier to blame his parents for locking him up in a boarding school where he's restricted from trying to help those he truly cares about than to think about his own poor behaviour that had led to his abandonment.

A little before 1.30, an hour after an orderly had slipped in with a tray of sandwiches and red Jell-O and orange juice, Blaine stirs awake. His eyes blink several times as he tries to focus and the smile he offers Sebastian when his gaze finally focuses nearly makes his breathing stop.

"You're still here," Blaine whispers. He sounds so surprised that it pains Sebastian to think that Blaine's parents might sneak out when he falls asleep.

"I'll have to go soon, but I thought you deserved some rest," he replies, adjusting his arm because the tips of his fingers are numb and he'd worried that moving it would jostle Blaine awake.

Blaine whines rather pitifully, grasping at Sebastian's shirt with an enormous pout. "But I don't _want_ you to leave!"

"You're clingier than my sister," Sebastian teases, a smile lifting his lips as he ruffles Blaine's curls. The boy scrunches his nose and reaches up to try – pointlessly – to smooth them down.

"When you put it that way, fine. _Leave_." Blaine huffs with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. Sebastian can't help but grin at the transformation that the other boy has undergone with a couple of hours of sleep and some comforting touch.

"You're sounding better."

Blaine shrugs, his protest against Sebastian's eventual departure wilting as he loosens his grip against Sebastian's shirt. He wonders if Blaine can feel the flipping sensation in his stomach when the boy's palm settles against his belly.

"It gets lonely in here."

He watches Blaine's eyes and the way they drift past him to the window. Maybe it's as close as he'll get to Blaine confirming his parents don't visit very often. He has a feeling if he asked, Blaine would say his parents were too busy to visit often. "Maybe you need to make some friends too?"

"They're all _old_," Blaine complains, wrinkling his nose again and his lower lip jutting out into an adorable pout. "You can't make friends when all the people here are in their eighties and recovering from broken hips."

He fights against the urge to laugh. "Wow, Blaine. I had no idea you were so ageist."

Blaine pokes his chest in a weak reprimand before cuddling close again. "It's nice having you here," he says, the confession sounding shy as it passes his lips.

Sebastian smiles and runs his fingers through Blaine's curls gently, enjoying the way that Blaine seems to melt against his body at the gesture. "You think you'll be okay without me?"

"I'm sure I'll manage to survive somehow," Blaine mumbles, but he's already beginning to sound forlorn and Sebastian really doesn't want to leave him.

Sebastian waits nearly half an hour before he knows he'll have to go to ensure he's on the bus back to Dalton. A good day doesn't need to be marred by a phone call to his parents about him leaving campus and not returning.

Blaine gives him another long, tight hug and Sebastian's not sure who needs it more. He lets the boy hold on and brushes the softest of kisses to Blaine's temple. The hug restores something within him, some of his internal fight and strength perhaps. He can only hope that it encourages Blaine's internal fight and strength to return as well. He really wants to see Blaine walk confidently and use his left arm. He wants to see Blaine smile freely and not be confined by the hospital rooms he keeps being moved to.

He presents Blaine with the flowers just before he leaves. Blaine's fingertips brush over the petals hesitantly and he gets another smile that makes his heart flutter in his chest. He doesn't want to try understanding it too much. He's not sure he'll like the answer.

* * *

He's fairly sure he's walking on clouds as he weaves through corridors towards his room. He's not even the slightest bit surprised when he sees Clarington at his desk, hunched over an exercise book with a highlighter in hand. He can't help the faint smirk that crosses his lips when he sees the smudge of green across Clarington's cheek.

"Hey. I wondered where you'd gone," Clarington greets when he glances up, his eyebrows drawing together as he assesses Sebastian taking off his coat and scarf and returning them to his small wardrobe.

"I was out," he says simply, a bit of a dumb smile on his face as he sits on his bed and begins to untie his shoelaces. He can still feel the press of Blaine and Lillian's hands in his, offering him comfort hours later.

"Out? Like, off-campus?"

He nods. The lack of further questioning prompts him to look over at Clarington, who has an eyebrow raised almost as high as his hairline.

"You look like you got some," Clarington observes, his eyes scanning Sebastian's face.

A laugh bubbles out of him before he can stop it and he shakes his head with amusement, depositing his shoes by his desk. "I'm not in a relationship, dude."

Clarington is still watching him. "You don't have to be in a relationship to screw someone."

He recalls the sophomore boys at public school and wonders how they're functioning without his dick to blow. It's definitely been a while and his right hand in the shower doesn't feel so good anymore. His awareness of sharing the space with a roommate probably has something to do with it.

"Why are you so interested?" he asks casually, placing his phone on the bedside table and staring at Clarington. "Wondering what a piece of male ass feels like?"

"I am not even _remotely_ bicurious," Clarington snaps, but there's something in the flash of his eyes that makes Sebastian wonder if he can get beneath the boy's skin and they can renegotiate the terms of their living arrangements.

"Whatever you say," he says airily, waving his hand dismissively and settling down on his bed to try to get a nap in before dinner. He shuts his eyes but his mind is still ticking over. He needs to start sizing up some of these boys to see who might be interested in offering a quickie on the down-low. Clarington's planted a seed that might just blossom into a hunger he'd forgotten about.

* * *

**_~TBC~_**


End file.
